


The Disappearance of Merlin Emrys

by TheGirlInTheBlackVeil



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Genocide, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Suicide, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-18 09:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11288718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInTheBlackVeil/pseuds/TheGirlInTheBlackVeil
Summary: The Witchcraft Act of 1735 made it illegal for a person to accuse another of any type of sorcery, after all, magic didn't exist, never had, and anyone who accused another of magic was obviously insane. It was just a coincidence that a generation prior to this James II put the House of Pendragon in charge of a specialty prison before he was deposed.Following an explosion at the Stuart Institute of Ministry Defence, over three centuries later, magic is undeniably returning to the land, but at what cost?Somehow the fate of the world has come to rest on one Merlin Emrys, and he disappeared without a trace three years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **I'm not done writing this story and I don't know if I'll ever finish it. I have a general idea of where I want it to go but nothing is set in stone so ratings, warnings, characters, pairings, etc. might change.**
> 
> So a few months ago my treatment resistant dysthymia decided to physically manifest as treatment resistant arthritis, my now limited mobility has thrown me into a double depression. (Yay!) Why am I sharing this? Because I use writing to combat the depression but this time around I find myself with all these ideas that don't look good on paper and therefore either delete or rewrite everything without ever completing it (I rewrote this chapter *four* times and I'm still not satisfied but at least it's finished). While I generally don't like to publish something unless I know I will finish it I am going ahead with this piece because I'm hooked on the idea and I'm hoping this will encourage me to stick with it to the end. My dissatisfaction with my writing might also be because my ideas/quality of writing has declined and while I would like to classify this as a trick of my mind (seeing as I've found myself unable to enjoy even my favourite stories) it is possible that my mood really has negatively affected my writing (in which case I apologize). I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm writing this more for myself rather than the fandom, but hopefully we can all get something out of it.
> 
> Oh and if my apologizing didn't give me away I'm Canadian, therefore please excuse any errors regarding all things British.

“Morning,” Merlin sing-songs with a bright grin, Arthur’s crappy earbuds making his voice sound tinny.

“Evening,” he replies with a small smile and Merlin giggles.

“Yeah, I suppose it would be, time difference and all that. How are you?”

“Fine, all the better for seeing you, love you.” He tells the other man putting his hand to the screen to brush his fingers over Merlin’s cheekbone, imagining he can feel the other man’s skin, his warmth. The feeling is only strengthened when Merlin pretends to lean into the touch, to grab his hand and brush a kiss against his palm.

“Love you too,” he whispers, the first hint of tears in his eyes.

“Don’t cry, Merlin.”

“Sorry,” he replies wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “I’m fine, promise!” But the smile isn’t all that convincing this time.

“Merlin,” Arthur gently chastises.

“I miss you, want you here with me. Want to listen to music and dance together, to fight over what we want to eat, I’d win because you can’t cook and I’m pretty great at it,” he gives a cheeky smile.

“Hey now! I’ll have you know I can manage on my own!”

“Yeah, if you call instant noodles and only slightly burnt toast ‘managing’,” he sticks his tongue out, joy lighting his face for a moment, then his face falls. “Want you here,” he tells Arthur again, “want to snuggle up to you on the couch while watching a movie, want to have our meals together…in bed with you,” he mumbles the last part so quietly it’s barely comprehensible, it’s only the blush on his face that gives him away.

Merlin often pretends he’s comfortable talking about sex, claims he doesn’t care who’s listening because if they don’t like what he’s saying they can simply choose to stop listening. Then other times he’s reticent even about the fact he likes men, can’t shake the idea that being homosexual means there’s something wrong with him, that it’s unnatural. He falls prey to the callous things others say, tries to sequester that part of himself away. He oscillates between being out and proud and diffident and closeted, the main driving force seemingly his depression. Surprisingly it’s when his depression’s at its worst that he’s apathetic toward what others think, “what’s the worst they can do?” he’d once asked, “stone me to death? Pity they’d be helping the boy who’s too afraid to off himself get what he really wants out of life.”

It had taken Merlin a long time to conclude that he suffered from depression, dysthymia to be precise. At first he just assumed everyone felt the same as he did, and when he realized they didn’t, that they were happy and didn’t contemplate suicide on a daily basis, he presumed it was just a part of his personality. Even now that he knows what it is, knows that there is treatment, that people can recover from it, he still thinks himself incurable. It hurts, hearing some of Merlin’s darkest thoughts, knowing that such a wonderful person can be so broken. True to Beck’s model of depression Merlin has negative views about himself, his future, and the world at large. Arthur can’t blame him though; if he had lived the life Merlin had he’d probably feel the same way. Yet somehow Merlin has hope, it’s a bit irrational, even Arthur, who has only the best intentions, can’t love Merlin as purely as he wants to be loved, can’t be the fairy-tale prince Merlin needs him to be. Yet somehow Merlin finds the strength.

“We,” Merlin gives a little cough to clear his throat before trying again, “We could have sex. You’d make it good for me. Then we’d cuddle all night. I feel safe in your arms,” unconsciously Merlin wraps his arms around himself.

“You’re not ready Merlin, you’re too fragile, too precious.” Merlin’s lips twitch, an aborted smile, then he clasps his hands in his lap and stares down at them, it is quite for some time. Arthur thinks Merlin might be crying, but when he looks up though his face is dry.

“So, how is it, out there? Hotels, maids to clean up after you, gourmet food?”

“It’s pretty horrible, cuz you’re not with me, and I’m alone. It’s so hectic right now with the trial starting tomorrow. I feel conflicted, everyone is telling me to support him because he’s family, that I’ll regret it if I don’t, that showing a united front will convince the jury of his innocence or at the very least get him a reduced sentence. But knowing what he’s done? Right now I can’t even stand to look at him, want him locked away for life, where he can never hurt anyone again.”

The smile Merlin gives him as he tells him all of this is out of place “Love you,” he says a moment too soon. Then Merlin sighs, “Guess I should let you go, you probably should get to bed, I should probably tidy up a bit, get some exercise.”

Arthur forces himself to smile, throat beginning to burn and eyes to water, he wishes he could keep talking to Merlin.

“Yeah,” he responds resigned, “goodnight Merlin.”

Merlin touches his screen, where Arthur’s image would be, “Goodnight. I-I love you… so much,” he’s not even trying to stop the tears now so neither does Arthur.

“I love you too Merlin, you are loved, you are so loved, you—“ but the screen goes black and a moment later the notification pops up asking him if he would like to replay the video. He shuts the laptop, removes his earbuds, and grabs a tissue to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

It’s been over three years now, but he’s still in love with the man.

The trial finally begins tomorrow, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care.

Everyone assumes he supports his father, not only condones his actions but was ready to continue them. They’re wrong, he does not believe Uther innocent.

There are many people who would love to see Uther suffer, among them those who escaped, those who survived, those who grieve, those who were forced into hiding, but Arthur thinks he wants to see his father rot in prison more than all of them combined.

Tomorrow Uther Pendragon is to be tried for the attempted genocide of the magical peoples.

Tomorrow Uther Pendragon is to be tried for kidnapping.

Tomorrow Uther Pendragon is to be tried for inhuman and unethical human experimentation.

But most importantly, tomorrow Uther Pendragon is to be tried for the murder of Merlin Emrys.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 9:15am and I haven't gone to bed yet. Anyway sorry for the delay this ended up being much longer than I expected and then of course I had figure out which parts to delete because it really was simply too much back story. I see that I have comments/kudos on this fic and I haven't been getting notifications for some reason but I'll respond when I'm feeling less like a zombie now that I know they're there. Also happy 150th birthday Canada!

**19 th December, 2013**

The cabbie helps Arthur get his luggage out of the boot before shaking his hand and wishing him a happy holiday and then he’s driving off. Arthur had taken the train into London and a cab from the station to the manor even though his father had offered to send a car to his Cambridge flat. In truth, Arthur had been attempting to enjoy his relative freedom for as long as possible and so he was willing to tolerate the joys of public transit for a few hours in lieu of being whisked off by Geoffrey in a limo. The expectation ever since his first year at boarding school was that he’d come home for Christmas holidays, even if he had been invited to spend the holidays with his friends’ families in the Alps. Admittedly, he didn’t really have any friends now to make such offers, he just hadn’t wanted to come home. Arthur had actually finished his exams rather early this term and neglected to tell his father such. By doing so he was able to secure a few days for himself, a few days to have absolutely no obligations, no work, no revision, no meetings or classes to attend. It had been nice for the most part despite having to ignore the nagging feelings of fear and guilt, fear that he’d be found out and guilt that he had lied to his father. Which is why he has returned now, even though he could have probably gotten away with another four days. Glaring up at the imposing grey structure Arthur seriously wishes he had told his father his last exam wasn’t until the twenty-third, the culpability was decidedly better than the dread he felt staring up at his childhood home.

It was hard to believe that there had been a time when he looked forward to Christmas holidays. Then again, life was generally better back then, pre-boarding school, pre “Santa Clause isn’t real,” pre “there’s no such thing as magic, Christmas or otherwise.” In those days he hadn’t felt like a prisoner because he had yet to experience the relative freedom that living away from home begot. Back then he believed that there was a chance he’d wake up Christmas morning to find his mother downstairs, alive and well thanks to the magic of Christmas. Back then he could be enticed with toys and sweets and a big Christmas feast. Not to say he was simply a spoiled kid who cared more about his presents than the company. No, back then Christmas had been much livelier, the Pendragon Manor employed many more servants and they were all invited to bring their families to Christmas dinner and to bring their children to play with Arthur and Morgana on Christmas day.

Morgana… They weren’t actually related but when he was little Aunty Anne and Uncle Gorlois often brought her over to play and they all spent the duration of the holidays with them at the manor. Gorlois had been his father’s best friend since his own days at boarding school. He was nice but Arthur had especially liked Aunty Anne whom he likened to a mother, she always made sure to include Arthur, was liberal with her hugs, would call Arthur and Morgana both “my beloved children”. Unfortunately, Aunty Anne was a sickly woman, although that hadn’t always been the case.

Apparently, when she was in her second trimester with Morgana they had discovered that she had stage three ovarian cancer. The doctors said removing the tumor and starting chemotherapy would induce a miscarriage but if she carried to term and delivered it would likely be too late to save her. Despite them encouraging her to abort the pregnancy to save her own life Aunty Anne had decided to continue the last four months of the pregnancy and mercifully Morgana had been born in perfect health and Aunty Anne had survived. Recovery had been a long and onerous process, treatment left her barren, but it had seemed she was recovering, that she would live. Arthur remembers a brief period where she was off the chemotherapy, when she stopped wearing her wigs because her hair was growing back, where she had been able to chase Arthur and Morgana around the house. But then the cancer came back, it had spread to her kidneys and lungs and they couldn’t remove it all, chemotherapy proved ineffective, she had become sicker and sicker, wasting away until finally, when Arthur and Morgana were nine and six respectively, she passed away a few days after Christmas.

The loss had hit everyone hard, had transformed Christmas into a miserable and somber affair. Arthur saw less and less of Morgana and his uncle and several times, when they did come over, Arthur caught Uther and Gorlois arguing, when Arthur asked about it his father told him that his uncle had been driven mad with grief. The two families drifted apart and it was soon just Arthur and his father for Christmases.

When Arthur was fourteen and Morgana ten Gorlois was killed in a car accident and Morgana had come to live at the manor with them. Despite being at boarding school most of the time Arthur had felt like Morgana had become like a sister to him. School holidays were things to be anticipated again, despite the fact Morgana was three years younger than him, a girl, and woke him up with her nightmares she was still a friend, someone he appreciated having in his life. He should have seen it coming. The altercations with his father had been worsening, she had suddenly become reserved, obviously hiding something from him.

Morgana had run off last year around her birthday. Arthur isn’t sure where to, hasn’t heard from her since. She didn’t even say goodbye, but even worse, his own father hadn’t bothered to tell him she was gone. He had arrived home looking forward to the holidays only to find her gone, his father flippant about the entire matter, _she’s old enough to make her own mistakes_ , he had said, _she’ll come crawling back once she sees the world for what it really is_. Arthur had been furious, which in turn sparked his father’s ire, they had argued in his father’s study, both so resolute that they reached an impasse, resulting in the decision to simply not speak to one another. Christmas had been tense. It was hard living under the same roof, taking meals together, and exchanging presents with someone you abhorred, it was even harder trying to put on an act in public because his father still expected him to stand by his side, a united front to showcase the strength of the Pendragon family, to discourage anyone from attempting to besmirch their name.

That Christmas had definitely been the worst, having to go out in public to Mass and act like they were a loving family enjoying the holidays when they weren’t even a family anymore, just two people who didn’t talk to each other when not being watched by the public. By the time summer holidays had rolled around both of their tempers had cooled, they were able to remain civil when engaging in small talk, still neither dared speak Morgana’s name, Uther spent most his time at his office, Arthur spent most his time running errands for Alined and the rest of his firm and when he wasn’t doing that he was studying old case files for the sake of learning.

He walks up to the veranda before pausing again, stealing himself to go inside. He doesn’t think this Christmas will be as bad as the last but he wishes he had pushed the lie and stayed at school for the weekend. He’s coming in so late today that his father will probably insist he take tomorrow to settle in, the law firm isn’t open weekends and he already knows they have reduced hours on Monday. That means he won’t even be able to shadow a case until after Boxing Day, if things go south he doesn’t have a backup plan.

“Are you going to come inside, sir?” Geoffrey calls from the open door. Of course they were expecting him, of course Geoffrey was notified when the cab came through the front gates. He sighs to himself and lugs his suitcase and messenger bag up the front steps. Geoffrey hovers awkwardly, not strong enough to manage the bags himself but probably feeling like he should do more than hold the door. Arthur gives him a small smile hoping it relaxes him some. His father keeps a skeleton staff now that Morgana’s gone and Arthur spends most of his time at school. Geoffrey’s been with them for longer than Arthur can remember, originally just the chauffeur but now acting as butler as well. Then there’s Audrey, the cook, she’s perpetually cantankerous and while she isn’t horrible at her job most restaurants employ better and Arthur wonders why his father hasn’t bothered to replace her. Arthur had received quite the deterrent  the summer after Audrey joined them; he had just arrived home and gone to grab a snack from the kitchen only to become the recipient of a spanking with a wooden spoon, since then he no longer ventured into her domain. The final member of the staff, who is also the newest having only been hired two years ago, is George, a bit of a jack-of-all-trades though tasked with maintaining the garden and cleaning the manor. He’s effective, Arthur will give him that, he gets all his tasks done on time and does them correctly, is generally silent as he works, until, of course, Arthur had tried to be nice by instigating a conversation with him. Now George seems to have it in his head that he and Arthur are great friends and never shuts up when in his presence, to make matters worse he isn’t just a chatterbox, he is insipid, and if Arthur’s being honest, rather obtuse. He doesn’t understand anything Arthur is studying, even when put in layman’s terms, doesn’t like, and therefore doesn’t understand, sports, his favourite topics to discuss are the weather and anything biblical. Arthur also learned the hard way that George doesn’t like debates of any kind and tended to take things literally and personally; he had sulked at Arthur for nearly a week until Arthur had apologized all because he had interpreted Genesis differently than George did. Oh, and then there were the jokes, the really dull jokes, about _brass_. So while Arthur thinks Geoffrey much too complaisant, too easily flustered, and dismal he is currently Arthur’s favourite person in the entire manor and Arthur wants to stay on his good side.

“Welcome home sir. Your father is in his study though he’s asked not to be disturbed, he will join you for dinner at seven in the dinette,” Arthur masks his surprise and hands his coat to Geoffrey, his father had always made a point of having family dinners in the dining room, “and your room has been prepared for you. Would you like me to take your bags?” he asks closing the closet.

“No, I can manage, thank you Geoffrey.”

“Very well sir, just ring if you require anything,” he gives a little bow before heading down the hallway and Arthur wipes his feet off a bit more before heading up the spiral staircase and to his room with his bags. He doesn’t wear shoes in his flat, his father had offered to hire him a cleaner but he had decided it was high time he learn to look after himself, he had quickly realized how much dirt shoes dragged in and just decided to forego them. His father would probably have an aneurism if he went without, something about socks being unprofessional and frankly disgusting, so he wears them in the manor but he is much more conscious about the mess he is making for George and Geoffrey to clean and tries to minimize it.

His old room smells strange when he enters it, he can identify fabric softener and furniture polish but something about it just smells like disuse. It would make sense, it’s probably been untouched since he left in August until George prepared it for today. Arthur sighs, moving his luggage to the side and closing the door, kicking off his shoes and going to collapse on his bed. He glances at the bedside clock, it’s not quite five yet, he glances at the ceiling until the light blinds him then pulls out his phone. No new notifications, that’s nothing new, it’s not connecting to the wi-fi, his father must have changed the settings again, Arthur doesn’t understand why he’s chosen to be paranoid about that of all things. There’s no one around for miles and the manor is so large that they had needed to have separate routers installed to boost the signal. To this day the signal is too weak to pick up even just a few feet from the house and the entire property is gated, no one’s going to be leeching their internet, and even if someone did they had unlimited, it wasn’t like they’d use it up and cause overages. Arthur contemplates calling Geoffrey to ask for the new network name and password then decides against it. He’s bored but even if he had internet he wouldn’t really know how to waste time, he’d probably be tempted to look for porn but he definitely doesn’t feel comfortable enough in his father’s house to have a wank in broad daylight. He’s not sure how he ever managed it growing up, he figures it might have something to do with having his own flat, sharing a house with his father and servants now seems incredibly public. Maybe it’s less to do with the contrast and more to do with George, Arthur shivers at the thought, he’d been interrupted way too many times by George for his liking, it’s like the kid had a sixth sense.

With nothing better to do Arthur decides to shower and take a nap. He feels rather dirty after being on the train, not to mention going through London was always a joy, the city was so dirty, people constantly bumping into you, not to mention the eternal rain, which at this time of year was freezing and slushy. Hopefully a shower will warm him up and get rid of the dirty feeling. He curses himself for being lazy enough to have lain on his bed in his street clothes, even if it was just the comforter.

Perhaps it was growing up in the lap of luxury but Arthur had a fair number of idiosyncrasies that most people deemed abnormal. Idiosyncrasies that his father was still determined to eradicate. Of course, his obsession with dirt wasn’t actually something his father cared about, he cared more about Arthur’s squeamishness. To be fair, it was hard to shadow at the firm with a weak stomach, Alined was money hungry, he took on any case if the client could afford his help, and Alined and his firm had a good enough reputation that people were willing to pay through their noses to obtain his services. Unfortunately, for Arthur this meant he had to look through evidence of often violent crimes, murder cases, rape cases, assault cases. The descriptions of the events were enough to make him feel ill, never mind having to look at photographic evidence of injuries or murder scenes. Arthur would have much rather worked for a small firm that dealt with simple things such as traffic violations and petty crimes.

Arthur’s opinion didn’t matter though. It never had and never would. There was no point thinking about what he would rather or what he wanted, his father had his life planned out for him, apparently the same way his grandfather had planned his father’s life out, and so on since the beginning of the Pendragon bloodline. If he had the ability to choose for himself not only would he not be working for Alined he wouldn’t be in law at all, in fact he found history fascinating, he’d have probably become a historian or archeologist if given the choice, maybe even a philologist. If he was allowed the choice he would not only not go on dates with the women his father set him up with but he probably wouldn’t even think of marrying a woman, let alone of having children with her, Arthur hated children. Hell, if he had the ability to make his own decisions he’d know by now if he really was gay. Yes, he seemed to find thinking of men more arousing than thinking of women, and yeah, he tended to always end up watching the men in porn but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d enjoy being with another man. Most people experimented around his age if they were questioning their sexuality, his experimentation had been working up the courage to watch gay porn (to be honest that was less because he was worried about someone finding out and more because his first attempt had turned up results that sent his stomach churning. How could anyone get off on _ugh, no don’t even think about it_ ). He couldn’t really experiment any further, heaven forbid someone get wind that the Pendragon heir had slept with a man, although he doubted the public would really care, yeah there were the bible thumpers but even they would get bored of telling him he’d rot in hell eventually, it was his father’s reaction he feared. And again it didn’t really matter if he was gay or not, he was getting married, having a small horde of children, and raising them here in the manor. Just because whom he was getting married to wasn’t set in stone yet didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Thankfully for now his father wasn’t pressing the matter. While he was introduced to a few women during summer holidays and expected to attend various events with them it seemed his father’s primary concerns were his studies and therefore didn’t mind Arthur not trying to foster a relationship, for now.

Arthur turns off the water, remembering that he’s in his father’s house and his father isn’t fond of his long showers. He quickly grabs a towel in attempt to fight off the encroaching cold, dries off and puts on his fluffiest pyjamas. He locates the blow dryer in the bottom drawer and quickly checks it for inhabitants as he plugs it in, he’s had a fear of getting blasted with spiders ever since he read a story about it when he was younger. He can’t believe he had actually let himself be cajoled into throwing his hair dryer out.

It had been first year and he had been desperate to make some friends, luckily everyone seemed to be in the same position as him and he’d fit himself in with a group of guys during orientation week. None of them were majoring in law but a few were in business, which Arthur was minoring in, and a few ended up in the classes he had to take to fulfill his breadth requirements. He wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come up earlier, he assumes they were all trying to socialize with others so while they had hung out together they had done so with the intention of meeting others. It had somehow come up about two weeks into term that Arthur wasn’t living on campus, that his father was paying for his flat. Not only was it a flat, it was a nice flat, _without a flatmate_. Of course by this point the rest of them were becoming a bit sick of campus life, originally they had been looking forward to freedom but by that point they were sick of the shackles that came with sharing, sharing bedrooms and bathrooms and dining halls, being told by dons to keep it down after ten and roommates telling them to _turn off the light god damn it I’ve a lecture in eight hours_. To them it probably seemed like they had been sold an imitation of freedom and that Arthur had the real deal. So they did what any eighteen year olds alone for the first time in their lives would do, forced Arthur into hosting a party. So the thirteen of them had piled into Arthur’s flat Friday night, they had worked together to provide booze, music, snacks, and entertainment and they had been enjoying themselves to the point that the downstairs neighbours ended up pounding on the roof. Everything had been going great, Arthur had been buzzed and felt like for the first time in his life he might have found somewhere he belonged when Galahad had called out from the loo, “Dude! Why’d’a have a hair thingy?”

“What?” Arthur had laughed back.

“A hair thingy, y’know, the blower, hair blower,” he had slurred and for some reason everyone started paying attention.

Arthur had laughed, “You mean a hair dryer?” he looked to the others expecting them to laugh along but they were silent.

“Yeah, why’d’a have one? Was it a bird’s?”

“What? No. I have it to dry my hair.”

“Ser-sly? Bit gay mate,” and something sunk in Arthur’s stomach when the others nodded in agreement had caused him to go on the defensive.

“Oh, sorry I don’t want wet pillows or wet hair in the winter,” no one immediately replied to that.

Finally Jackson let out a low whistle, “Gay and closeted, don’t worry though Artie, we’re not haters, we’ll still love you, no homo of course,” and Arthur had flushed in embarrassment but somehow that comment had the party back in full swing.

The next day he had thrown out the hair dryer while cleaning up, it had been expensive too but he valued friendship more than an expensive hair dryer and the benefits it brought. That night had marked the beginning of the end though. Turns out his neighbours had complained to the landlord who had decided to inform his father who had called and explicitly told him he was not permitted to have parties and if he heard about it again he’d be coming home. His “friends” hadn’t been pleased but had let him continue to hang out with them but Arthur felt like there was a divide between them, that they no longer saw him as a person but as a _gay_ and he had to keep doing things to try to prove otherwise. Hanging out with them wasn’t really enjoyable anymore, it was just another thing to balance on top of his studies, since they were all busy with classes and he had more classes without them than he did with them eventually they just stopped talking, and that was how Arthur had ended up alone. Well, alone with a new hair dryer, he wasn’t going to suffer wet pillows for no reason.

He groans into his pillow and checks the clock again, he still has an hour. He’d give up trying to sleep now but he has nothing better to do.

Of course it wasn’t like if you didn’t make friends in the first few weeks of uni you’d be alone for life, and Arthur wasn’t _completely_ alone. He had somehow found himself talking and sitting next to a girl called Jessica in his mandatory English class and intro to law, it just so happened that in their law class was a guy named Troy who went to high school with her and was also doing his LLB. Troy definitely wasn’t the type of person Arthur would normally hang out with, he smoked, had some risqué tattoos, seemed to only wear band t-shirts, jeans and his leather jacket, actually was in a band, didn’t seem to be trying too hard academically, and identified as a Satanist. They weren’t super close, never associated with each other outside of a school context but sat next to each other in class, grabbed lunch together, and covered for each other if one of them was unable to attend a class and needed notes. Arthur’s not exactly sure what happened to Troy, he knows he was unable to take a few mandatory classes because his average had been too low, classes that you needed to attend the mandatory upper year seminars, Arthur hadn’t seen him after third year. To be honest he hadn’t really had time to notice what with applying to do his BPTC, trying to keep his grades up, working as an errand boy during the holidays for Alined and preparing to begin some proper work for his firm by slaving over old cases.

Arthur thinks he’s imagining things before the door swings open and he’s blinded by the hallway light. “Sir?” comes an annoyingly familiar voice, “Sorry to wake you sir but dinner is in half an hour, I’ve been sent to make sure you have ample time to prepare.”

“Yes, okay, thank you George, I was just laying down for a bit,” his vision has come back enough to allow him to see George tapping the corner of his mouth meaningfully. Arthur cringes when he touches his own mouth and realizes he might have been a bit more out of it than he thought as he’s drooled all down his face, he quickly wipes at it with his sleeve.

“Would you like some help preparing, sir?”

“No, that will be all George,” yet the words fall on deaf ears and George has flicked on the light and is already rummaging through the suitcase Arthur had left open on the desk chair.

“It’s just you and Lord Pendragon tonight, nothing too formal. Might want a jumper though, dinette has always been a bit draughty and of course there’s a bit of a chill in the air today isn’t there sir? Ah, here, this jumper will do, and you can layer it with this blazer, yes that will look smart. Do you have trousers other than jeans in here sir?”

“I thought you said this was informal.”

“Oh, it is sir, but it is the first time your father’s seen you in months, a proper reunion dinner shouldn’t be attended in one’s pyjamas.”

“I wasn’t going to wear my pyjamas, I was trying to take a nap. Why can’t I just wear jeans and that jumper? That blazer and my slacks are for work,” somehow George manages to make a blank expression look disapproving but Arthur’s not falling for it. He knows his father will have a suit or two prepared for him for the actual Christmas events and he has a few outfits that he left here suitable for the office but that’s his warmest blazer and pair of slacks and if they end up in the wash before Christmas is even over he’ll be without at work. It’s not like he can wear jeans to work anymore either, he’s no longer an errand boy and while his official year of shadowing can’t begin until he’s finished his BPTC he’s at the point now where he’s actually allowed to work with some of the solicitors and even shift through evidence to help establish cases. 

Arthur begins to unbutton his pyjama top raising an eyebrow at George who huffs before leaving and closing the door behind him. Arthur’s dressed and ready for dinner in a grand total of ten minutes, most of that time being spent trying to tame his hair, it likes to be dry and frizzy and entirely uncooperative at this time of year. With twenty minutes to kill Arthur decides to check his social media feeds, gets as far as opening Chrome before remembering he’s yet to get the network information. In a true fit of boredom Arthur ends up making the bed and unpacking and thankfully it’s finally time to face his father.

He’s five minutes early but it’s really no surprise his father’s already seated and starting on his soup, Arthur’s own serving waiting for him. “Arthur,” his father greets with a nod.

“Father,” he replies. Sometimes he wishes they could be a normal family, one that actually bothered to correspond with each other when not living together, didn’t go four months without a word, only to finally be in the same building and wait until dinner to acknowledge each other.

His father takes a sip of his wine, “How was your ride in?”

“Fine,” he could complain about the cold or the people to make his answer seem less standoffish but his father would only reprimand him for refusing a car.

“And how were your exams?”

Arthur ensures he’s finished his mouthful before responding, a pet peeve of his father’s, “They were harder than most of the exams I wrote for my bachelor’s but that was to be expected, none of them were deliberately difficult or obfuscating. I expect that I’ve done well.”

“Good, and you’ll have that confirmation in January I presume?”

“Yes.” After another spoonful of soup Arthur asks, “And how is work?”

“Things seem to be looking up,” and that catches Arthur’s attention, normally his father would just say “good” or “same as usual” this is different, this is the second different thing tonight.

“Oh?”

“Well, the government has granted us more funding, and not just to cover inflation this time, enough that we can actually afford to expand. And Ariedian, you remember Aredian?” Arthur nods, thankfully he’d only met the man a handful of times, gave him the creeps, his father didn’t seem too fond of his company either but he was a scientist, apparently one of the best, which is why his father not only employed him but gave him the position of second in command. “Well, he thinks he is onto something, something big. If his predictions are correct we will be able to correctly predict every crime before it happens.” Arthur’s never heard his father go on this long about work, it’s strange. He also doesn’t believe there could possibly be a way to predict every single crime before it happened, not through mass surveillance, not through the internet, not through security check points, but listening to his father monologue about work is better than eating in silence trying to think of something to say that won’t result in a diatribe. They’ve already made it through their appetizers and the entrée of duck with some sort of puree on a bed of greens is being served. “If he is successful our jobs will be so much easier, essentially all we’ll have to do is monitor this device and when it goes off send someone to arrest the individual.”

That’s all his father seems to want to say so Arthur asks conversationally, “Won’t that put people out of jobs though?”

His father looks up and finishes chewing before replying, “Perhaps, yes. Some of them could be saved, there’d need to be some shuffling around, people to monitor the device, someone to communicate with the outside about what its readings mean, people to arrest the individuals. I suppose it is a downside but would you rather have world peace or employ a few thousand soldiers?” Arthur doesn’t think that’s a very good analogy but nods in agreement anyway. “Besides, it’s only an idea for now, Aridean is far from ready to even build a prototype, then of course there’s the matter of whether or not it will actually work, it’s too soon to even say anything will change.”

“Of course,” Arthur nods again and the rest of that course is silent although it doesn’t seem strained, doesn’t feel like it needs to be filled.

In between the entrée and dessert his father decides to drop a bombshell, “I know you will be shadowing Alined during the break but I figured it was time you start making yourself known at SIM-D.”

Arthur nearly chokes on his wine in surprise, surly his father can’t mean what he thinks he means, “Sorry?” he asks once his airways are working again.

“Well since you came in so late today I figured you’d need a day to settle in and there’s really no point in you going to the firm on Monday what with the reduced hours and the fact they’re only meeting with a few clients. So I thought you could come with me to the office tomorrow, and maybe Monday, we’ll have to see how it goes. This facility has been run by our family for generations Arthur, as my only son you will inherit it and the responsibilities that come with the position. While I don’t expect you to have to step into my shoes for some time yet you need to be prepared. I’ve been rather lenient with you, my father had introduced me to the position before I’d even started university, but a lot has changed since I was your age, everyone has computers and wi-fi and mobiles, they’ve drastically changed the job and I admit I wasn’t ready to introduce you to something I didn’t yet feel comfortable with. I intended to have you start a bit earlier than this, I figured that after you had finished second year you’d have worked any rebellion out of your system, gathered some foundational knowledge about our government and the world, and understood the need for secrecy, but then…” he trails off not wanting to say her name. To be honest he could probably say it and Arthur wouldn’t do anything about it, he’s too stunned. Yes he’s known that his life was leading up to this, sort of understood why it was important for him to study law if he was going to work in a facility funded by the government with the intention of researching new ways to defend the country, wasn’t quite sure why he was to work for Alined and become a barrister. Honestly he had often thought his father had either given up on him or that all of this was some sort of test he had to pass in order to advance in this game of life his father had laid out for him. His father’s work has always been clandestine, it makes sense, he’s defending the country, he has access to state secrets and must ensure they are safe from both the enemies who would use the information against them and the public in order to prevent mass hysteria and civilian casualties. Arthur barely even knows what his father does, has taken the limited information available to him and fabricated his own fantasy based off of what he had seen in movies and read about in books. He’s actually only ever been in the building three times and never past the front lobby with its imposing security guards and the receptionist that stared down her nose at him.

Arthur mindlessly scoops up some of his dessert and sticks it in his mouth following his father’s example, knowing that his father is awaiting a response and trying to delay while he formulates it. He can’t help but pull a face and look down at his plate. Tiramisu, he fucking hates tiramisu, it’s essentially coffee flavoured chunks of gelatinous cream and soggy biscuits. He manages to swallow what’s in his mouth before he sets his spoon down and pushes the plate away.

“Arthur?” his father asks enjoying the monstrosity on his own plate and waiting for a response.

“Forgive me, I was a bit surprised. I knew this is what you intended for me but I had figured at this point you were waiting for me to establish myself as a barrister.”

“Yes, that was my fault. I kept telling myself you weren’t ready yet, that you were just a child, I had forgotten that it is my responsibility to teach you to be an adult.” And isn’t it sad that this is probably the nicest thing his father has said to him in the last two, probably closer to five, years? “I have arranged for you to join me at three tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour, introduce you to some important people, explain our mission, what we do, all right?”

“Yes, thank you father,” the words come easily for even though he knows he has no choice in the matter it feels like he’s being rewarded. At long last his father has deemed him mature enough to explain his work to him. Perhaps this won’t be another horrible holiday spent avoiding each other and engaging in stilted small talk.

His father is quick to retire after dinner. Arthur manages to procure the information for the wi-fi, too excited about tomorrow to go to sleep any time soon. He’ll be driven in by Geoffrey, doesn’t have to be there until three, it’s only a twenty minute ride, he’ll only need an hour to get ready that means he won’t have to be up until after noon, he can afford to stay up and read or watch Youtube videos until he’s tired enough to sleep.

Geoffrey makes a point of popping his head in just after ten to inform him that he’s off to bed but should he require anything just give him a ring. Once the servants are in bed all the hallway lights are turned off and the heating is turned down. Luckily Arthur’s room isn’t draughty but by eleven he’s shuffling back into his pyjamas and shoving slippers on his feet, socks and shoes long abandoned. It’s just past one when he perks up. He hears it again and takes his headphones off. A third time. It sounds like a mobile, too distant to be his own and his father always turns his off when he goes to bed. He doesn’t hear it again, he’s not sure if he’s imagined it, but even if there was a phone ringing it has stopped now. He’s ready to put his headphones back on, but then he hears banging from down the hall, thinks he can make out his father’s voice, he gets up to investigate, gets as far as opening his door when the hall lights suddenly come on. His father’s there, dressed looking dishevelled, hair askew, the first signs of stubble on his face, but otherwise looking fully alert.

“Father?” he inquires and it appears that only then does Uther realize his son is standing there.

“Go back to bed Arthur,” he tells him trying to stuff his feet into his shoes, having to fix his socks to do so, while simultaneously shoving his mobile in his pocket.

“What’s wrong? Did someone call you? What did they want?”

Uther sighs, Arthur’s unsure if he’s frustrated with Arthur or with his shoes or both, “It was work, there’s an emergency, I have to go in. Go back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.” What kind of emergency would require his father’s presence? They probably were stopping terrorists and gangs and drug rings all the time, but they weren’t the team that was responsible for stopping the attackers, the police would do that. As far as he was aware his father had never been called in for anything before.

“What kind of emergency?” the question has passed his lips before he can filter it.

“Someone bombed the facility,” Uther tells him point blank, and oh, that’d make sense, of course the terrorists would attack the place that tracks them, that way they could move freely.

“Is everyone all right?”

“I don’t know. There were people there, just a few, the night staff, but I have to go and find out.”

Arthur nods in agreement, “Okay be safe,” he tells his father as he starts to descend the stairs. His father pauses just then, walks back up the few steps he had already travelled and comes to stop right in front of Arthur. Arthur looks up at him not quite sure why his father now stands before him until Uther cups the back of his head and presses a kiss to his crown.

“Thank you Arthur, don’t worry about me, all right? I’ll be fine, get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning,” and then he’s gone, switching off the light as he goes.

Arthur stumbles back into his room in a daze. His father had kissed him, he can’t remember the last time his father kissed him. Can’t even remember the last time his father touched him intentionally except for the occasional handshake or pat on the back reserved for a job well done.

He’s fallen back into his desk chair, not quite sure what to do. He had finally been feeling tired and had told himself that this would be the last video when his father’s phone went off. Then there was the adrenaline rush but that seems to have passed already, his father’s actions bringing confusion but also a sense of tranquility. When his father had told him of the bombing, and had been quite clear that Arthur would be remaining at the manor, Arthur had envisioned himself channel hopping with his laptop on his lap refreshing various news pages in hopes that someone would be reporting on the event. Chances would be he’d still be scrounging for scraps, trying to put the pieces together, by the time his father got home. Now though, now he actually feels exhausted, somehow he’s not worried at all. Yes, his father’s place of work had been bombed but his father was going to go deal with it, the dangerous part was over and his father would be fine, Arthur’d see him in the morning.

With that thought Arthur shuts down his laptop, turns off the desk lamp and crawls into bed, almost expecting the panic and anxiety to creep up on him. Instead, sleep calls to him, he is warm and safe and his father will tell him everything when he wakes up. Everything will be fine.

* * *

 Arthur wakes with a start, something’s woke him and his heart won’t stop racing. Then he hears a voice, a man’s voice, yelling, loud stomping, he jumps as his door is thrown open. “What are you still doing in bed, boy? Get up!” Alined commands and that tone has him following the command before it’s even registered. Why is his boss here? “Hurry up and make yourself presentable, the police are downstairs and the press is outside and neither will stay put for long, in fact neither will I!” He slams the door shut behind him, boots clucking away and down the stairs. What?

Okay, last night his father’s workplace had been bombed, his father left to deal with it, said he’d be home by morning; it was morning, was he home? No, probably not, Uther would have sent Geoffrey to wake him. Alined said the press was outside, maybe a few stations thought they’d have better luck asking him and the staff about the incident since Alined had probably told Uther not to say anything. But why was Alined here? Shouldn’t he be with his father? Uther employed him and even if it was Arthur who needed legal advice wouldn’t Alined send a solicitor and stay with his father who obviously needed him more? Did he even need legal advice? Alined had said the police were downstairs waiting for him but… No buts, he should probably hurry up and find out what they want and why Alined thought it was serious enough to warrant his presence.

He’s dressed in record time, manages to relieve himself flatten his hair and even brush his teeth too. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time for a shave, thank the heavens that he’s blond and it’s barely noticeable, and then he heads downstairs. Sure enough in the sitting room are two uniformed officers along with Audrey, George, Geoffrey, and Alined, and someone’s brought tea, how very British. “Arthur Pendragon?” the larger male officer asks upon seeing him.

“Yes?”

“We have a few questions. Take a seat.” With Geoffrey sitting in what is usually his father’s arm chair and the officers occupying the love seat the only spot available for Arthur to sit is on the couch between Audrey and Alined. Alined smells of tobacco, a smell that turns his stomach so soon after waking up, especially with an empty stomach, but Audrey always manages to smell like bacon, which seems to be causing his stomach to also growl, he hopes this doesn’t take too long. Before the officers can even begin asking questions Geoffrey’s depositing a scone and a cup of tea in front of him. Arthur takes a tentative sip to find it just to his liking, an eighth milk with two sugars, and why did he ever dislike the man?

“So Mr. Pendragon,” and Arthur has to stop the man right there.

“Please, it’s Arthur, Mr. Pendragon is my father,” he says with a smile, he is trying to be polite, but the cop scowls, looks like he’s about to say something when his partner, who’s been silent until now, lays a hand on his arm.

“Arthur, do you know why we’re here?” is that a Jamaican accent?

“I assume it’s about last night’s bombing at SIM-D?” Everyone is silent, George shifts uncomfortably and Audrey quickly occupies herself with her tea, Geoffrey seems to be ineffectively polishing some silverware with a napkin, only Alined seems unbothered. Was that the wrong answer? If so why didn’t Alined say something? Tell him not to answer the question?

The large man seems about to say something but the black man silences him again, “Yes.” Upon first glance one would assume the large one’s the more dominant of the two but it is quite clear now that his partner, who seemed diffident at first, actually holds the power. And he’s really going to have to get their names.

“I’m sorry, I never got your names.”

“Forgive us, I am Constable James and this is my partner, Constable McAllen.” Funny, he didn’t sound Scottish. “Now with regards to last night,” he gives a huff of laughter, “or better one o’clock this morning—“

McAllen cuts him off, “How long have you been working for your father?” Arthur can’t help but furrow his brow. He’s training to be a lawyer, was raised to respect the law, but right now he has very little respect for Constable McAllen. Not only does it appear he fulfills the stereotype, doing nothing but sitting in the cruiser or behind a desk downing stale coffee and scarfing down doughnuts all day, but he just cut off his partner, his partner who seemed to have full control of the situation and had been continuously polite, and asked a question based on an incorrect assumption.

“I don’t?”

Alined claps his hands together, “As I said gentlemen, and as the staff in this house have confirmed, the boy works for my firm, not his father. Now that you’ve heard it from his own mouth are you willing to drop this nonsense?”

“Forgive us, but we would like to hear the full tale from your client, if we may?” Alined scowls and crosses his arms over his chest but leans back again. Constable James turns back to Arthur, “When you say you don’t work for your father I’m assuming you never have? Not for the holidays or even volunteer hours?”

“I’ve never worked for my father,” Arthur replies honestly.

“But how often were you there?” McAllen asks.

“At SIM-D? I only ever went in the building three times, and all three times were freak accidents. Once because I got sick at school, once because my father was working late even though he swore he’d be back in time for my nanny to make her flight, and the time I don’t remember apparently I had escaped from the car and run in.” McAllen scowls but Constable James is jotting notes down.

“And of the times you remember what did you see? What did you do?”

“I think I just waited for my father in the lobby every single time. The security guards wouldn’t have let me past even if I had tried. Government secrets to protect and all that.”

“Indeed,” McAllen states sulkily, crossing his arms.

“And did your father ever tell you anything about his work?” Arthur frowns, that’s very broad, Uther had complained about stale coffee, about the heating malfunctioning, about upgrading systems, had even asked his opinion on wi-fi.

“Nothing of interest, no government secrets if that’s what you’re asking,” he laughs to relieve the tension but everyone else is silent and suddenly he’s having flash backs to that incident during first year again.

“Please tell us about anything your father mentioned,” Constable James encourages.

Suddenly a wave of dread hits Arthur, he’s got this all wrong, hasn’t he? He thought they were here to ask about the bombing, trying to figure out if it was possible equipment in the building could have caused the explosion, or why the terrorists had targeted SIM-D in the first place, maybe even to see if they should place him under a guard in case someone tried to extract government secrets out of him. His hands shake as he takes a sip of his tea. It only serves to make his stomach roil and if he doesn’t weigh it down with something he’ll puke. He quickly takes a bite of scone, trying not to seem like he’s delaying, but then he needs more tea because the scone’s dry.

“Quit wasting our time!”

“Do not raise your voice at my client! He’s not stalling because he’s trying to withhold information, you’ve obviously frightened him,” Arthur feels the familiar flush of embarrassment, can hear his father’s voice telling him men don’t get frightened and if they do they certainly don’t let others know. Alined’s voice telling him he needs a better poker face to be a lawyer, that he has to be able to withstand surprises without letting his surprise show, that if he doesn’t improve he’ll never be a barrister, he’ll be ripped to shreds by the opposition in a matter of minutes and laughed out of court.

He presses his eyes closed, trying to center himself, “It would be helpful if you just told me what you were looking for, I don’t think you care that until six years ago, when they got the Tasimo, my father constantly complained about people leaving stale coffee in the pot, that he continues to complain about mugs in the sink and crumbs all over the breakroom. I don’t think you care about the year the heater broke and they had no heat for a week only to get it fixed and find out that it continued running in August and they were boiling. I don’t think you care about all the problems that occurred when they tried to upgrade their systems, or the major debate they had about installing wi-fi and using portable devices. So if you could be a little more specific?” he opens his eyes finally and looks to James when he asks this, knowing McAllen is a lost cause.

“Yes, of course, maybe more about the work he did rather than the environment? Maybe he mentioned something about the research they were doing or who they were defending the country against?”

Arthur frowns and tries to think, “I know that the head researcher and my father’s second in command is a man called Aredian, he’s come over to the house a few times. To be honest he gives me the creeps, and while my father seems to think highly of his work and his abilities, he does not seem too fond of Aredian on a personal level. From what I understand Aredian’s lab is at, was at, SIM-D and it sounded like my father gave him a lot of free reign. Just last night my father was telling me that Aredian claimed to be close to some kind of breakthrough that would allow them to stop all crime before it started… something along those lines. Of course that would be impossible, not to mention my father often seems to think Aredian’s close to something great only to have it fall through.” This has them writing again although Arthur’s not sure what’s interesting about what he said, maybe Aredian’s name and position but they could have gotten that from his father. He looks over to Alined who’s scowling, but has yet to say anything.

“Okay, that’s a good start, anything else? Or did he say anything about “the enemy”?” he does the air quotes and all.

“No, not that I remember, never said any names or anything, didn’t even mention any terror groups. I’ve heard him refer to them as “enemies of the crown,” and “terrorists,” and on one occasion “violent savages,” I think that was following an attack.”

Constable James pulls a face, “Nothing else? Even stabs in the dark about what you think they were doing at SIM-D?”

Arthur shrugs, feeling less anxious thanks to James’ laid-back attitude, “From what I was told they were simply a government funded facility whose purpose was to monitor any threats to the country and research new ways of defending us.”

James nods flipping his notepad closed and tucking it in his breast pocket before finishing the last mouthful of his tea. “Well then, thank you for your time, I think that’s everything, right Henry?”

The other man grunts before standing, “For now,” he mutters and it sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

James flashes a polite smile before handing a business card to Arthur, “If you think of anything else give us a call and we’ll do the same. Thank you for your cooperation, and the tea! It was quite good after a long night, thank you sir!” he directs the last part a Geoffrey and Arthur witnesses the man blush.

“No, thank you, officer,” Constable James laughs before heading out of the room and down the hall, Geoffrey quickly following, probably to get the door for them. No one else seems to be moving so Arthur takes the opportunity to finish his scone.

When Geoffrey returns Alined stands and all attention is drawn to him. He turns to Arthur first, “Sorry for throwing you under the bus, boy, but it was for your own good. The less you knew and the less I interfered the more likely they were to believe your innocence.”

Arthur bites his tongue, reminds himself that while Alined might be here as his legal representation he’s also his boss and he should be respectful, “Then I suppose I should thank you although I would like to know what’s going on now if you would be kind enough to fill me in.”

Alined cocks his head, “Your father told me you were up when he left and that he had informed you of all he knew at the time, were you seriously ignorant enough to go to bed without even checking the news?” Arthur could kick himself, that’s exactly what he had done, how stupid could he be? It didn’t matter if the danger was over and he had felt safe and tired. He’s training to be a lawyer, with a case hitting this close to home he should have known Alined would ask for his assistance on it. He should have stayed up to get the full story, or at least as much of the full story as he could. Apparently his silence speaks volumes because Alined continues, “I’m very disappointed in you,” and it stings, even though he’s not fond of Alined, finds him immoral, he’d be a fool to not respect his success, not to do as he says simply to better himself.

Alined turns to address the group, “Try to go about your days regularly, don’t leave the house, don’t let anyone in the house, it’s probably best to close all the curtains, and if someone hops the gates call the police and have them charged with trespassing. I’ve reviewed all your contracts and I will remind you again that your employment will not only be terminated but we will press legal charges if you breathe a word of this to anyone. That doesn’t just mean the press, that means your family and friends too. Also should you find any of this distasteful remember that your contracts mean that you are legally obligated to give a two week notice and continue your duties for those two weeks.” The fact that he just completely ignores Arthur while addressing the group makes Arthur feel like a child again, he’s too dumb to understand anything, therefore he’s invisible. “Now I have to get back to Uther and see if those idiots are still insisting we go through the magistrate, hopefully they’ll just grant him bail,” _what?_ “I’ve been gone long enough, and can someone fill his son in on what’s happening?”

Arthur stands, it’s a knee jerk reaction that causes the remnants of his tea to spill. It feels like he’s choking on his tongue, or maybe doing a good impression of a fish, before he finally manages to get out a single word, “Bail?” Bail is for people who are in jail. Jail is for criminals. His father isn’t a criminal, he’s a victim. How? How could his father’s office get bombed, his father leave to deal with the fallout, and now his father’s in jail?

“Like I said, if someone could…?” and it’s Audrey that takes his arm and guides him back to the couch. She appears to actually be concerned and begins petting him and that’s shocking except it really isn’t because Arthur’s already in shock and it’s impossible to be even more shocked about something less shocking. Oh God, is he going to pass out?

* * *

He’s not sure what’s happened, maybe he fell asleep? He’s lying on the couch, an afghan over him and a pillow under his head. It would make sense, but it doesn’t feel like he was sleeping. For one, he knows exactly what happened and knows it is real, it doesn’t feel the slightest bit dream like. Alined’s gone, in fact everyone’s gone. The tea’s been cleaned up, the lights dimmed, the curtains closed. For a moment he fears they’ve all left him, but Geoffrey enters the room just as he’s getting up to search the rest of the house, and he comes baring breakfast.

“Sir!” he exclaims letting go of the trolley to grasp his chest, “You startled me! You gave us all a fright earlier, you should sit down.”

“No, I need to—Geoffrey, please, tell me what’s going on. What’s happened to my father?”

Geoffrey takes him by the arms, and with more strength than a man his age should have, leads him back to the couch and pushes him back onto it. “Just sit for a moment sir, you look half crazed. Here,” he says returning with the tray from the trolley, “drink some of this water, and there’s more tea for you. Audrey’s made a nice healthy breakfast, have some of that and then I’ll tell you all I know.”

Arthur finishes the water quickly enough, the food’s a little more difficult to get down. It’s too rich, normally he loves eggs and toast and meats but right now it’s too slimy and too dry, yet somehow he manages to eat it without throwing up.

Once he is through a considerable portion Geoffrey wrings his hands and begins to speak, “I don’t know everything sir, just what they broadcasted on the telly and a few inferences from what Mr. Jackson and those officers said.” Arthur’s stopped eating to listen but Geoffrey gives him a look and it takes a moment for Arthur to interpret it as _if you don’t eat I won’t talk_. Geoffrey continues once he resumes eating, “I’ve spoken with the others and I swear to you sir none of us were aware of anything, your father never even hinted to us about his work, do you understand?” and Arthur’s nodding because Geoffrey’s saying this like it’s important, as if he’s about to tell Arthur his father’s a serial killer or a terrorist and so it is important he know before the big revelation that they weren’t in on any of it.

“I guess your father left sometime in the night, we were all asleep downstairs, none of us knew. I woke up at five thirty, as I usually do, and started getting ready for the day. I keep the radio on and it was on the news, ‘explosion at SIM-D’ was really all they were saying at the time. Said your father was on scene as well as emergency crews, that your father had confirmed there would have been people inside, the night guards, maybe a few employees working late in attempt to have everything done for Christmas holiday. I had turned on the telly then, had to see it with my own eyes. They started bringing people out but then they were mentioning a hidden basement, _ten stories_ underground, the building was bigger underground than it was on the surface. I didn’t really question it, top secret government research and information, it made sense to me to hide it. Your father was recorded telling them that there would be no one downstairs at that hour but the police wanted to investigate because the bomb had gone off underground. Then they started pulling out more people, more _bodies_. Dozens of them, it was horrible sir. Some of them were screaming. It wasn’t until later, the others were up at this point, were watching with me, it was probably about eight thirty by the time the statements started coming in from some of the victims. They said—they said they were prisoners—test subjects, that the entire institute was a farce to cover up the research they were doing on them. Apparently they were kidnapping people to conduct horrendous experiments and wouldn’t stop until they were dead.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Arthur finds himself saying, “my father would never kill an innocent person, he wouldn’t imprison them and disregard their rights either. Not for science, not for money, not even for the safety and security of this nation! It doesn’t make sense, if this was about science and money it doesn’t matter what findings they made no one would take them seriously and pay for their work if they weren’t published, and they couldn’t have their findings published if their results were illegally obtained. And if this is about the safety of the nation that means the government is paying for this, that it’s being done in secret because it violates human rights. How can anyone be safe if they can’t even trust their government to not throw away their rights?” A part of Arthur recognizes he’s ranting and he might as well be doing it at a wall, Geoffrey, bless him for his service, can come across as scholarly but knows little about the modern world preferring instead to stick to the history texts, so if Arthur doesn’t know the answers to these questions it is unlikely Geoffrey does. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans back and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry Geoffrey, I know you do not have the answers to these questions. These accusations make my father sound like a monster and I don’t want to think of him as a monster but the truth of the matter is that I fear it is true. If the police believe these accusations enough to arrest him and Alined has to arrange bail they must hold some truth. I’m just trying to rationalize this.”

Geoffrey hums and Arthur continues to look at the ceiling. His father could hardly be described as kind, compassionate, or loving, Arthur wouldn’t even try to argue that he was a good father, far from it, but a _monster_? “Sir?”

Arthur sits back up to look at Geoffrey, “There’s one more thing that you should know that might help answer some of your questions. Only one of those radical stations was saying it and I dismissed it right away because it can’t be true, at least I don’t think it could be true, it certainly sounds ridiculous,”

“Geoffrey?” Arthur asks not unkindly but he wants to know everything, wants to put together this puzzle, will run right upstairs and turn the tv on and search the internet for more clues after this but he needs to know.

“Well this station said that the people making these accusations said that the reason they were imprisoned and used as test subjects was because they have magic. That the actual objective of SIM-D was to research and destroy all traces of magic from the earth.”

“Ridiculous,” Arthur snarls and Geoffrey quickly bobs his head.

“Oh, yes sir, I agree! Completely ridiculous! Impossible!”

Arthur nods, more to himself than Geoffrey, “Thank you Geoffrey. I’ll be in my room, please do as Alined instructed for now and ensure the others do as well,” he says standing.

“Of course sir,” Geoffrey replies, becoming more relaxed already now that he’s been dismissed into his routine, clearing away the remains of Arthur’s breakfast.

When Arthur returns to his room he does what he should have done last night and scans the news constantly, looking for something new, another piece of the puzzle, trying to fit everything together.  Explosion seems to have gone off on the lowest floor they say but police can’t find any type of device. Minimal injuries caused by the blast they say, workers already being discharged from the hospital. More accusations coming forward, those still in hospital saying it wasn’t the blast that injured them. All the accusations are the same and more whispers of magic are heard. If it was just one or two people it would be dismissed as trauma from the blast, maybe a pre-existing condition like schizophrenia, but some stations are saying as many as five people are saying this. Apparently, one of the deceased is no older than ten, there’s no way these are just employees. Details are slow to be released, the staff ensure he’s fed and hydrated, inform him that Alined called and they are insisting his father go through the magistrates’ but that’s not happening tonight.

Uther isn’t released until the twenty-third, for a while Arthur had thought he’d be spending Christmas without his father. His father won’t answer his questions, he’s left to draw his own conclusions from a variety of news sources. His father forces him to pretend it’s a regular Christmas, they put up a tree, go to Mass, have a large dinner with some government officials, they ignore the empty seats. On Christmas day, after they’ve exchanged gifts and had a large breakfast Arthur rushes back to his room to turn on the news. As promised, the first of the alleged victims has been discharged from hospital. He had been classified as a missing person and has now been reunited with his family. The reporters swarm them as they transverse their way through the car park and it is clear they just want to go home but it seems this man feels it is his duty to answer some of the questions being shouted at him. He calls for silence, straightens, and then, right there in the hospital parking lot on Christmas morning, performs magic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, take it. Take. It. Don't let me look at it anymore. I just want to get on to the good stuff. Two months, 27 rewrites, 6 times rereading it, and I'm still not happy. 
> 
> Not completely my fault though my laptop went in for repairs and was gone all of August. Ok, important warning/rant: I don't know if you guys have Bestbuy/Geeksquad where you are but whatever you do do not let these people touch your devices, they are a scam and I found out the hard way. Bluetooth on the laptop went and I still had a week under warranty so I returned it to Bestbuy for them to send it for repairs. Before handing it in I confirm that I'll have it back before September because I need it for school "yes, yes, only 10-15 business days, go to this website and use this code and you can track it". Well it's business day 18 no updates since "repair in progress", I'm freaking out because it's September, when am I getting my laptop back? I get a confusing call saying my laptop couldn't be delivered to my house please come into store for exchange. I get there explain my situation to the guy at the repair desk, he grabs my laptop from the back, it's covered in grime, he just tells us to follow him to customer service, tells the guy there to do an exchange. Wait, what? Have to ask him before he runs off what exactly is happening. "Oh, we did a diagnostic on August 10th, then looked for a new part and sometimes it's just cheaper to get a new laptop than a new part." They could have told me this weeks ago, I've been without a laptop for weeks, I'm supposed to have contacted professors to ask if they can supervise me etc. At this point I say I don't want a new one I have a bluetooth dongle from my old laptop I'll just use that because I don't have the time to set up a new laptop and some of my files didn't backup correctly. They've wiped it. They shouldn't have been anywhere near the hard-drive. So I say fine I'll take the new one, same model and everything, right? No, we are actually giving you a giftcard with the amount of the laptop on it, now go pick out a new one. Cue me freaking out. I'm back at school on Monday, I didn't know I would need a new laptop, haven't done any research, not to mention I got my laptop crazy cheap because it was on super sale. Every laptop I'm looking at that has the same features is at least 300$ more. Finally in a state of desperation I ask one of the bored looking teenagers if any Bestbuy still has my laptop. Turns out the one I was at just didn't have it on display, the price had gone back up though. Cue argument with customer service guy but eventually I got the same laptop without paying extra. I felt like they were looking to make money off of me. My laptop had been under manufacturer's warranty, Geeksquad should have never touched it, just sent it to them, their tracking website lied and said it had been sent to them, they knew a few days in that they won't be fixing it but made sure my warranty was long expired before telling me so that I couldn't send it myself (would have cost postage which is why they say bring it into the store). They've wiped the memory and done damage to the outer case at this point so of course I would take the exchange over it at this point. But then to lie to me and say they don't have my laptop in stock so they'll just give me store credit? If I hadn't asked they would have made an extra few hundred dollars off of me. Then they had the audacity to ask if I would like to buy their Geeksquad protection for an extra 200$. Laptop was only 300.  
> Anyway, super pissed off about it. Moral of the story don't let Bestbuy/Geeksquad or any company owned by them (futureshop etc.) touch your devices, send them right to the manufactures even if it costs you postage and seems like it will take longer. After the fact I found many similar horror stories online.  
> END RANT/WARNING
> 
> Ok please enjoy this super long chapter that almost killed me!

_He’s exhausted. It’s been a long day but not nearly as long as last night had been. He’s so tired he feels as if he could fall asleep on his feet amongst all these other people on the lift, but is he tired enough to actually fall asleep in the hotel room? He’s the last to exit the lift, the more expensive rooms on the upper floors. He fumbles with the key card, for such a posh hotel you’d think they’d better position the scanners, he’s too slow the first two times and bashes his knuckles against the doorframe on the third attempt but the light finally flashes green and he’s quick to enter the suite before the door locks again. He kicks the door shut, one hand shoving the key card back into the pocket of his trousers_ _, the other reaching for the light switch. He freezes, suddenly chilled, hair standing to attention, catches a glimpse of the mirrored closet behind him reflecting light. There’s a knife at his throat before he can even breathe, an arm around his middle pressing his arms and back against his attacker’s front._ Oh God _, he thinks,_ I take it back, I don’t want to die, please I’ll do anything _. And the voice of his attacker responds in his right ear, “Give me all the files concerning Hunith Emrys,” in a gravelly voice, breath reeking of tobacco._

_Arthur’s mind is foolish enough to feel relieved for a moment before he realizes, barely daring to speak it aloud, “There—there are no files on Hunith Emrys,”_

_He most definitely does not cry out when his attacker jerks him back violently, arm tightening, hissing, “Liar!”_

_In the back of his mind he registers that he’s bawling, “Please, please, I swear, there are no files, there’s barely a word written about her.”_

_He’s being pushed forward, further into the room, hyperaware of the knife digging into his neck, it must have broken skin already, blood must be rolling down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt, it’s this thought that sends him into a deeper state of panic. He hopes he’s wrong, could calm down a bit if he could just deny it, but he can’t see from this angle and tilting his head to look will surely mean death. “Then show me the words that are written,” his attacker barks, squeezing threateningly, leather squeaking as he does, “and don’t try anything funny.” If Arthur wasn’t terrified it’d almost be funny, this is exactly like the movies, foreshadowing and everything. Hadn’t he told himself just last night that he was safe here? That no one would gain access to his valuables between the security guards in the lobby, the locks on the door, and the hidden safe, but his laptop’s sitting on the bed, apparently already hacked into, his attacker has the case files open. Hadn’t he told himself that no one would be after them at this point because the trial had started and everything was being made public? Hadn’t he told himself he wouldn’t be targeted because not only was he never even listed as a suspect but no one would even think that he’d been given access to the case files?_

_He’s granted use of one arm, the other still pinned to his body, the knife’s still at his throat and he and his attacker awkwardly bend forward for him to be able to use the laptop. He opens up the correct document, the one outlining the experiment along with the intake paperwork, scrolls down to the section about Merlin’s arrest, and slowly starts to stand back up when he is jerked forward, “Read it.”_

_He’s not going to make it out of this alive, is he? He can tell that his attacker’s getting fed up with him as it is, he’s so terrified that his voice keeps cracking, that he’s stuttering, that the small passage is taking too long to read. He doesn’t know why this random person is interested in Hunith but he very much doubts they’ll like what’s written in the report._ Please let death be painless _, he thinks as he finally reaches the end of the passage, the sudden silence is harsh,_ please let me somehow end up with Merlin _. He certainly hadn’t imagined this was a possibility last night._

* * *

 

_How did I get here?_ Arthur asks himself. It’s a bit of a rhetorical question, obviously the consequences of his actions brought him to where he is now. All choices have consequences and unfortunately even inaction is a choice with consequences, consequences Arthur’s now facing. Then of course comes the question of: What would I do differently in order to avoid this? The answer, no matter how brilliant, would of course matter very little, what’s done is done, besides, he honestly doesn’t know what he could have done differently. It feels as if every action would have eventually led him to this point, lying in an unfamiliar hotel room, praying for sleep to come, waiting for sunrise, trying not to come undone at the seams.

He knows that he can’t claim to understand the full extent of the brainwashing, but at least he knows now that yes, he was brainwashed, and his current state of mind is testament to that. There’s been a major dissonance between what he was taught and what he actually believes in, the resulting chaos, hopefully, a sign that he’s undoing Uther’s work. Tonight’s bad though, really bad. Horrible enough that he’s contemplating suicide again. It’s ironic that the thing that’s driving him to think of suicide is the same thing preventing him from following through: Fear of failure, fear of others, and to a lesser extent, fear of Hell. Oh, but he’s already failed on so many levels, could there really be a Hell worse than this? Wouldn’t it be better to just take his chances with death? Reincarnation doesn’t sound that horrible, in fact it could be the perfect reward. How nice would that transition be? To go from that inability to breathe, the darkness, the soul screaming pain of your nerves firing in a last attempt to save you, to the burning of that first lungful of air, the blinding light, the giant hands, swaddled in the too rough fabric, the overloud coos, the smell of a mother’s chest, her fingers on your crown.

_Loved._

It’s all Arthur had wanted from this life. It’s probably all anyone wants from any life. If Merlin’s right about reincarnation, and Arthur feels his explanation is sound, he would be so blessed to fall right off the top of the hotel into the hands of a nurse or whoever’s aiding in the delivery. It’s true that he could be much worse off, that reincarnation would be a gamble but he thinks he’d be willing live the entirety of that life, no matter how horrible, if only to feel so loved for the first few months of it. Of course even that’s not guaranteed. Just look what happened to him in this life. Ripped from his dead mother’s womb, on life support for the first few weeks of his life because he’d been born unresponsive, left inside his mother’s corpse for too long, his father too sick with grief to even look at him.

It’s possible that both he and Merlin are right. While Merlin had practically made reincarnation scientifically sound Hell could also exists, but instead of being the dark, brimstony, sweltering, cavernous dwelling of Satan that they’d been taught about in Sunday school it could just be a horrible reincarnation. Like this one. If suicide is a sin does that mean his next life will be worse than this one? Is it even possible to have a life worse than this?

He violently thrashes his head to the left smashing it into the pillow in hopes that the force will knock these ridiculous ideas from his head. Of course there are lives worse than the one he’s living, all of Uther’s victims have been through worse, Merlin especially had lived through Hell. There are so many people worse off, he has no right to pity himself. He’s never known hunger, never had to worry about money, always had Uther to fall back on, he’s never been physically abused, never suffered from any major illness or injury, he lives in a country where he knows that if he’s ever in trouble there are people who will help him. Boo hoo his mother’s dead and his father’s a criminal, so what? He has no right to feel this way, there are so many people that would jump at the chance to switch places with him.

_At least they’re loved._

**_Shut up!_ ** he thrashes back to his right side, trying to calm his breathing. He’s fighting a losing battle and he’s not sure why he isn’t just giving up, giving in, allowing his body to have its panic attack or whatever it wants to do because as horrible as panic attacks are he’s obviously already in the middle of an anxiety attack, perhaps if he just lets his fear peak a bit more it’ll reach its climax and then subside, exhausting him into sleep.

God, he just wants to sleep.

_Don’t cry. You have nothing to cry about,_ it’s supposed to sound soothing but it sounds condescending, either way he manages to keep the tears at bay, _for now._ He’s not sure how long he’s been grinding his teeth for but notices it now, just something else to worry about.

He reaches out for his phone, easily visible as the curtains are doing little to keep out the street light, the rain only making everything brighter, his phone lights up at the touch of a button, obnoxiously proclaiming that it’s already quarter to two in the morning. He wishes he had agreed to sleep in the manor. Both Alined and Uther had been on his case about it, they said it would show his support for his father to stay in his childhood home, to arrive at court together would earn sympathy points with the jury; Uther Pendragon was a loving father, their decision had the power to destroy the precious bond between father and son. Of course by some miracle, well, no, not a miracle, simply because Uther was the opposite of a loving father, neither he nor Alined knew of Arthur’s true feelings, of how he had mentally disinherited Uther, no longer acknowledged the man as his father, or of how being in the same room as him made him sick, of how he thought the man a monster and wanted him to suffer. He’d made up some bullshit, but apparently passable, excuses about being underfoot, about not being a morning person, that he’d hold them up and the attention should really be on Uther anyway. Uther had caved, renting him a posh room in a posh hotel, a short eleven minute walk from the lobby to Middlesex Guildhall. Yet it didn’t matter how posh it was, it still felt foreign, dirty, and was much too loud, Pendragon Manor was not home but at least it was familiar, at least he’d have had a chance of falling asleep there.

He doesn’t really have to do anything tomorrow, it’s just opening statements. Just arrive on time, smile at the cameras and don’t respond to the reporters’ questions, sit on the defendant’s side of the room, don’t fall asleep. It’s hard to believe that a mere few hours ago, when had been preparing for bed, he’d only been worried about getting to sleep so he wouldn’t be too tired tomorrow. Not being able to sleep seemed like such a trivial problem now, there were so many other, more important, things to worry about and yet the only thing he can deal with right here, right now, is getting to sleep.

He’s angry. Furious with himself. He knew this would happen, had thought he’d taken enough preventative measures. He had actually managed to stay calm right up until he had climbed into the bed and turned out the lights. The feelings came skittering out from their hiding places the moment the room was submerged in darkness, they buzzed at him, at first far away but obviously advancing, getting louder. At first he had tried to fight them, convince himself that the uneasiness he felt was due to the strange environment, that he had nothing to worry about except getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. Yet the moment he had classified the feeling he had become hyperaware of every internal and external cue. Fearing what would occur should the feelings be left unchecked he had meticulously cataloged every thought that slithered toward him and hissed into his ears, putting them through a rationalization, before marking them as defeated. He had intended to talk himself out of the fear and coax himself into sleep, but during his rationalization process he had delved too deep into things. What had begun simply enough, dealing with the here and now, rationalizations such as _that’s just the people next door ,the doors are locked you’re not going to wake up to a thief in the room, you’re safe here, your alarms are set you’ll wake up in time_ , had somehow extended to rationalizing future fears, _it doesn’t matter if you only get a few hours of sleep you don’t really have to do anything, it doesn’t matter if the reporters ask you questions you’ll just say “no comment” and keep walking,_ until, of course, he got to the big glaring _what’s going to happen to me?_ This particular monster sat directly on Arthur’s chest and weighed a tonne, it had shining, red, angular eyes that stole whatever breath you had left away and razor sharp teeth that grinned maliciously at you, serpentine tongue lolling out from between rotten teeth, its breath so noxious it made you want to vomit, voice a deep, echoing, hiss, but worse was its psychotic sounding laugh of glee, increasingly louder and more manic the further it pushed Arthur into panic. There was no defeating it. He couldn’t push its question out of his head, couldn’t even come to terms with the answer because there was no definite answer, there were just too many variables in the mix. Instead he was left imagining the outcome, he tried another coping mechanism by asking himself _what’s the worst thing that could happen?_ in hopes that if he could cope with the worst possible outcome he could deal with any outcome but he kept thinking up increasingly worse scenarios, scenarios he didn’t know how he would survive when he got to them. _If_ he got to them. While he considered suicide a last resort it was always a viable option.

While his personal feelings have little influence over what will actually occur he knows that disregarding everything else he wants to see Uther convicted, put away where he can never hurt another person again. It’s for the best, the man he had once called father was a monster and destroyed everything he touched, Arthur himself included, if left unchecked he will continue to do so. The less influence Uther has in his life the better off he’ll be, but should Uther be found guilty and sentenced to life in prison it’s possible that the man will have a larger role in his life than ever before. With nothing better to do and the connections he has it would be easy for Uther to use Arthur as his marionette. Then again, if he goes free he could decide that since Arthur’s been exposed to everything and his master plan has been set back years by this whole ordeal it’s high time Arthur fulfill the role Uther had been grooming him into, a life of crime that Arthur wants no part of.

He squeezes his eyes shut a bit tighter, he’s only making himself more anxious. He’ll never get to sleep at this rate. Surly he can just think of Merlin, or really anything else that doesn’t have to do with this awful affair, until his brain is relaxed enough to at least doze. Yet conjuring a happy thought is like trying to catch a fish with his bare hands while outrunning a demon, every time he thinks he has it, a happy thought, it morphs back into the demon.

_Just let me sleep._

There are three forces in Arthur’s life that have influenced every decision he has made; the brainwashing, his heart, and his fear.

Even after everything Arthur dares not defy Uther, he’s _scared_ , knows the man can ruin his life with just a few words. Uther’s been engineering Arthur to be just like him, brainwashing him to be ready to take over SIM-D, and while the objective is now long gone much of the training has unfortunately stuck. Arthur’s isolation hadn’t been by chance, Uther had intended to be the center of Arthur’s world. He had created a dependency, Uther had made it so that Arthur had to rely on him to provide both physically and mentally, had taught Arthur that if he ever wanted anything he had to go to Uther and do what he said. Any type of love, praise, or affection was treated as a reward, reserved for a job well done, and since Uther had made him think that no one else could love him because no one else cared for him, that without him the world would chew him up and spit him out, he had always been driven to make the man proud. It led to a bad case of perfectionism, social anxiety, and just overall low self-esteem.

Over the years his heart, his true self, had been buried, if not destroyed, first he had learnt to hold his tongue when he disagreed with something, then he’d been taught to do as he was told when he was told, finally he was taught not to question Uther, until the behaviour became internalized and it had become instinct to trust Uther’s word as law. After all, he didn’t really have anyone else in his life to contradict Uther’s opinions. He isn’t used to thinking for himself, he never really had the need before, took comfort in the fact that even if he hadn’t known what the plan was exactly that there was a plan in place, that he was following it, making all the necessary preparations to become the person Uther wanted him to be, a person that, at the time, he had thought would be successful and happy. Was it possible to be brainwashed into happiness? Or would the remnants of his heart protest? He hates to sympathize with Uther, wants things to remain clear cut, he’s the monster, he caused all of this, he’s evil and needs to pay, but Alined’s right to have included in his defense that Uther was brainwashed too.

Once upon a time the House of Pendragon had been poor because they refused to convert from Catholicism and it had lost them favour in society. But they believed in the teachings of the Catholic Church and they believed King Charles would lead the country back into God’s light. Therefore it was an honour to be entrusted with the operation of SIM-D, the organization that King Charles had founded to continue the purging of magic from the land thus protecting the very people who would see magic roam unchecked from those they called Satan’s minions. But that was a long time ago, the world has greatly changed, religion plays less of a role in day to day life, science can explain numerous phenomenon that had originally been seen as acts of God or the Devil, and there were few who feuded over royal succession. Youth today liked to believe that people were born neutral, that their actions defined them, they thought science could answer everything, they thought that the monarchy was powerless and so cared little about who should rightfully be sitting on the throne. Ever since the late eighteen hundreds there was also this trend, this desire, to “make your own way in the world”, not only were young people working for people other than their parents they thought that they could work themselves out of their social classes, some even implied that their parents and tradition was holding them back from attaining better lives for themselves. With these new ideas floating around and the factors that originally made the position so appealing becoming obsolete the Pendragons had needed to give their heirs incentive to continue the work of SIM-D, thus they started brainwashing their children. It is for this reason Arthur thinks that even if he had turned out the way Uther wanted him to he would have never been happy, Uther’s never been a happy man and he’d been brainwashed in much the same fashion.

This should serve as reason to continue down this path, to keep fighting, to choose to break away and destroy his life over becoming a murderer should it come down to it. As it is he barely knows how to be in the same room as Uther anymore, couldn’t stand to live with him, refuses to recognize the man as his father, looking at him, listening to him, makes Arthur feel sick to his stomach, all he can see is Merlin’s face, Merlin’s face as he—he… As far as he’s concerned Uther Pendragon is a murderer, a criminal, and unscrupulous, he deserves to pay for the horrors he’s wrought, Arthur wants to see him punished… yet he doesn’t know how to exist without him either. He’ll have to learn, no matter what the verdict is, he has to get away, the longer he stays the worse his prognosis will be. As it is breaking away feels like signing his death warrant.

Even if Uther doesn’t retaliate he’ll have to change his last name, no one will want to be represented by a Pendragon, especially not after all the details are made public. It’s possible that even that won’t be enough and he won’t be able to be a barrister anymore. Maybe he won’t even be able to work in law, which probably means he wouldn’t have the funds to keep his flat, not unless he has an alternative source of income. He could do that, couldn’t he? Surely he can still make a life for himself? Even if he’s not really sure what he wants from life or even what he’d like to do in terms of a career he does have some skills, he should be able to use those. Even if his skill set and degrees become obsolete for some reason there’s always entry level positions, teenagers still in school manage to work so he’ll definitely be able to get a job. His life might become little more than work, he might have to get several jobs to afford necessities, but that would be okay because he doesn’t really do anything when he’s not working or doing something for Uther. He’s not really living, just surviving, he can continue to do just that, it’ll just be a little more difficult is all…

He stuffs his fist in his mouth to muffle his cry of frustration and despair, for even in his darkest hour he’s concerned about others, about what they might hear and what they might think and what they might say. He hyperventilates for a moment before managing to regain his breath, dragging the pillow in his arms closer to his chest and squeezing the one between his knees tighter. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” his whispers are loud over the thumping of his heart and the rumbling of the storm outside. He repeats the words again and again to himself, rocking slightly, and when that doesn’t work he begins stroking the pillow in his arms, pretends it is Merlin’s hair he’s carding through, Merlin’s legs between his own, Merlin’s nape his nose is pressed against. Merlin never thought that anyone would profit from his advice on self-soothing, there’s no way he had ever imagined the son of his captor would be not only implementing his techniques but that the person he would think of to bring comfort was Merlin himself. He pretends that Merlin’s here, alive and well, that they are lovers, they have each other, nothing else matters, they’ll be together forever, they’ll work through it together, it’ll be okay because they’re in love and love cures all.

His throat burns on a silent scream. Merlin’s dead and gone, barely knew Arthur even existed, probably thought of him as the enemy, had been more interested in _Morgana_ even though she had little to do with his fate and he had been gay, not the slightest bit attracted to girls. That’s the other thing, on the off chance that there really was some type of heaven, a place without pain and suffering, a place to meet the dearly departed, Merlin wouldn’t be waiting for Arthur. He wouldn’t even bother to say hello because while Arthur had been privy to practically every second of Merlin’s life, from his imprisonment at five years old up until his death, Merlin didn’t know Arthur beyond the fact that he was the son of his captor, that he would be likely to one day follow in his father’s footsteps in the operation of the facility that destroyed his life. It was worse than being strangers, while Merlin was above hate, didn’t tolerate violence, Arthur was still technically the enemy. Yet it wouldn’t be much of a heaven without Merlin by his side, that being said it’d still be a few steps up from where he is now. It would be a bit embarrassing to go around somewhere Merlin could potentially see him, where anyone could see him, pretending that they were in a relationship but there would be nothing stopping him from doing it, from acting out their lives—afterlives—together. Perhaps, on top of being a place without suffering and the fake relationship he could have with imaginary Merlin, he could actually meet his mother. He wonders if she had wanted him, if she was proud of him, if she would be waiting for him and willing to love him should he kill himself. Had he been worth it? Had she wanted him badly enough to justify dying for him?

Would Merlin be with his mum? That probably sounded a bit terrible seeing as the poor woman could still be alive, the incident report from the day of Merlin’s arrest had simply stated that she had been “removed from the situation” when she had tried to pursue the kidnappers. Arthur’s not sure what that means, hadn’t asked as it would probably seem suspicious. Merlin had seemed to have hope for the longest time that she was still alive, still out there looking for him, but if that were true wouldn’t she have come forward by now? The entire world now knew that Uther Pendragon had been running a facility with the purpose of eradicating magic, that he was being charged with Merlin’s murder. If his mother were still alive wouldn’t she have come forward to seek justice for her son? Wouldn’t she want to provide a statement, to help lock Uther away? Merlin had loved his mother, as a child she had been the center of his universe, he had continued to speak fondly of her up to his death, it was for this reason Arthur hoped that he had found her, that they were together and at peace now. That’s what happened when you loved someone, you wanted the best for them, even if the best for them was opposite of what was best for you.

So how did Arthur fall so hopelessly in love with a dead man? It had been gradual; he hadn’t realized it was love at first, it started off as some sort of paternal instinct then had turned into a platonic sort of love, and finally an all-consuming, soul-shattering love.

Back when he had been Uther’s puppet, when the chaos had just begun, Uther and Alined had refused to say a word about the case. Arthur had thought it a punishment for not staying up that night, for not having done his research, perhaps it was, but the main purpose had been to further drive Arthur into Uther’s hands. It had been working too, they probably would have been successful if it hadn’t been for Merlin.

When everything started that night over three years ago he had legitimately believed Uther innocent, had thought there had been some sort of mistake. Even after seeing that first display of magic he hadn’t felt disbelief, hadn’t even questioned that it could be anything other than a parlor trick, instead he had immediately begun to research how the man could have created the illusion. A sensible person would normally let themselves be swayed by evidence, the more people that made a claim the more infallibility that claim had, and yet Arthur wouldn’t be swayed. Not by the en masse reports, not by the numerous displays of magic, not by doctors confirming the drugs that had been in their systems, or the police confirming that these people had been reported as missing. He had thought it all a farce, someone was trying to set his father up, or maybe the world had gone mad. Apparently the brain finds it more acceptable to think the world’s mad than admit that it’s the fucked up one. He was adamant that it wasn’t real magic, they were just parlor tricks which he’d be able to explain given time, and it wasn’t the truth, but lies, that the victims, the doctors, and even the police spoke. All those human remains could not have been found at SIM-D, these people hadn’t been prisoners there, his father wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

But there had been an inkling of uncertainty, perhaps not about his father’s innocence, he hadn’t questioned that, but about magic being real. It was hard for him to deny the evidence, he couldn’t explain even half of what they were doing with science, couldn’t find the motive or the means for all of them to have fabricated the same lie. So he had begged his father and Alined to let him in on the truth, to let him help prove Uther’s innocence, but both Uther and Alined had remained tight lipped about everything. The longer they remained silent, neither confirming nor denying, the longer Arthur fought to prove his father’s innocence, both for himself and on the off chance he could use his findings to help with the case. At last he had been loyal long enough, or perhaps he had just run Uther’s patience dry, but one day after a series of questions that he assumed would be met with the usual silence that he had become accustomed to his father had snapped and went on a rant about the horrors of magic and why it needed to be purged from God’s earth.

By this time it had been too late. Arthur had fallen for the typical sunk cost trap, he had been fighting for so long to prove his father’s innocence that giving up felt like he was losing, and Arthur detested losing, so he did what any idiot does and continued fighting. He had listened to and rationalized his father’s excuses, magic was evil, humans were stupid, they would have let Satan’s minors roam free simply because they looked human. So King Charles had arranged for the purging to continue long after he had been dethroned, to continue even though the Church and the monarchy had lost power and the majority of the House of Lords would see magic run free. SIM-D was the Pendragons’ pride, their purpose in the world.

Arthur lapped it all up, even the most gruesome of details had been blocked out; the horrific experiments, the kidnappings, the executions, the complete lack of compassion, dignity, or humility. It had all been a test and he had passed with flying colours, his blind loyalty, his willingness to help, no, not just willingness, he had pleaded to given a task, to be let in. Perhaps they were reluctant because they had sensed the uncertainty that even he had not been aware of, his heart screaming at his brain that this was _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , for they continued to conceal things from him, placating him with simple tasks. They probably would have continued doing this if they hadn’t found themselves in such a time crunch.

When they had finally decided to let Arthur in on the case it was still uncertain which court Uther would be tried in. It was a huge case and while Uther was a British citizen, SIM-D was on British soil, and run with British money, the victims had been international, the kidnappings, and in some cases, murders, had occurred on foreign soil. Until it was decided which court Uther would be tried in the exact charges couldn’t be pressed. Alined had seen this period of indecision as an advantage, he could use this time to cover all his bases so that they were better prepared than the plaintiff come trial. So Alined had his entire firm combing through evidence and creating arguments in preparation for virtually any charge. Arthur’s task had been searching for evidence regarding the evils of magic that would be strong enough to convince the jury that these creatures needed to be locked up and put down, for the good of all. It had probably been another attempt to commit him to the cause, let him discover the horrors of magic on his own, have him arrive at the conclusion they wanted him to without overtly leading him to it. At the time the lack of infallible evidence had been a minor annoyance but understandable. He had thought the lack of evidence was reasonable and indicated that SIM-D was effective in removing magic from society, they had reduced the number of magic users drastically and those that still roamed free were too terrified of SIM-D to wreak havoc. Later though this would cause his faith to waiver when he realized that evidence was lacking not because there were only a handful of incidents that went unreported as he had initially assumed but because there simply was no evidence.

Everything had been decided upon, there were just some formalities left to take care of, since it was such a large case it would go to the International Criminal Court, which of course would look at the case on a grand scale. Their focus had narrowed, all their attention was now on the bigger picture, the supposed genocide and the unethical human experimentation, SIM-D’s existence as a whole would be challenged. Arthur had been tasked with mitigating the need for experimentation. The initial argument was based off of the research Arthur had previously gathered, magic was evil and that those in possession of it, who were simply being referred to as the magicals, were a danger to society. They were willing to admit that in the past SIM-D’s way of protecting the public was by putting down the magicals, there really was no alternative way to protect the masses; however, they were going to make the claim that the information gleaned from Aredian’s experiments would allow magicals to be controlled, would have soon removed magic from the earth if it hadn’t been forcibly terminated. SIM-D took no pleasure in killing anyone but they had been tasked with protecting the people and that is what they had done, while the experiments might have seemed gruesome and unnecessary they were the key to peace, the difference they would have made was like lethal injection was to life in prison.

Reading about Aredian’s experiments had been a challenge, they turned Arthur’s stomach, gave him nightmares, he’d find that his mind started blocking out the meaning of the words he was reading, not interpreting them, but of course he needed to understand what was being written to create an argument regarding why it was crucial. Luckily he merely read the purpose and results of the experiments to ascertain whether or not they would convince the jury that they were essential for their somewhat fabricated end goal of peace.

What unsettled Arthur the most was how Aredian determined who was to suffer. He had developed a ten point scale to rank magicals on their power level which was determined through various assessments upon intake. Anyone brought in below a four was executed immediately, apparently all relevant testing on low level magic users had been done and they didn’t survive the more intensive tests, these people were the most numerous and probably the most fortunate of the lot. A rating of four to seven generally made a person the equivalent of a lab rat, expendable, Aredian would normally experiment on them until they died and made no effort to preserve them, they could just as easily die from dehydration or starvation as they could from a brain lesion. Anything above a seven would make a person a valuable subject, the stronger the magic the more rare it was. In centuries past they couldn’t even hold these people for any sort of questioning or experimentation, they were lucky to even capture them and normally had to execute them right away or risk them escaping. So there was a lot of research to be done on them and Aredian actually attempted to keep them alive as long as he could in order to conduct his experiments.

The beginning of the end had begun here. It didn’t matter that Arthur didn’t know them, that he had no clue what they looked like or what kind of lives they had led, they hadn’t deserved that type of treatment, that type of pain, and seeing as he was struggling to pull together a solid argument there had clearly been very little scientific advancement despite all the sacrifice. Yet he was still blind, had blamed it all on Aredian, not his father, rationalized it to be that his father probably didn’t know the full extent of what Aredian had been up to. So despite recognizing that the experiments were immoral and wrong he was still brainwashed enough that he followed orders and tried to prove the necessity of it, even if he knew they would be been better off blaming Aredian.

They thought they were prepared, they had covered all their bases, combed through all the evidence, felt they had a solid case. And then the Americans kicked up a fuss. Since they had withdrawn from the Rome Treaty in fear of their own being prosecuted they felt that the ICC couldn’t represent them and decided they didn’t want Uther tried by them. In the end they settled by allowing the British Supreme Court to handle the case, the Americans threatening to try Uther under the American judicial system as well if they didn’t like verdict or felt they weren’t properly represented. Arthur understood that a lot of the victims had been American but didn’t understand why everyone was letting them dictate what would happen. He wasn’t the only one that felt this way, many grumbled about it and it was unlikely they would be able to make good on their claims, but it remained that everything had been scrapped for them.

No one had thought this a major issue, in fact it was almost to their advantage, Alined knew this judicial system, this court, best, they still had all their arguments, Alined was even starting to plan his opening and closing speeches he was that confident. The Crown Attorney on the case was to be Odin McKeown, he was good, he was one of the best in the country and definitely the best employed by the Crown but Arthur secretly thought Odin wasn’t the right man for this case. Odin was textbook, textbook was often a good thing, lawyers were taught a certain method for a reason, it was successful, but Arthur knew that textbook couldn’t stand up to Alined. What they needed was someone who could be spontaneous, someone able to ask questions Alined didn’t have the answers to, someone capable of answering the questions Alined sprung. At the time of this announcement Arthur had still thought this wrong move was in his favour, everyone on Uther’s side had felt the same. Then Odin had broken from his approximately forty year old rut, forewent the textbook, and did something spontaneous, he laid another charge, one Alined hadn’t prepared for. He decided he was going to charge Uther with the murder of one Merlin Emrys, a name Arthur hadn’t even come across yet.

This was the time crunch.

They had a little over six months to fight this charge, a charge no one had even conceived of, no one was prepared to counter-argue this. Perhaps Odin had chosen this Merlin person on purpose, apparently there were thirteen years’ worth of evidence that they’d have to scan through, they could easily miss something. It wasn’t just written records, no, every second of Merlin’s imprisonment had been captured by audio and video surveillance. Alined knew the argument he wanted to make but needed to find the evidence, that meant scanning through possibly every second of the videos, they definitely needed Arthur’s help if there was any hope of anyone spotting anything at all. Even at the time Arthur had seen this as much too close to fabricating evidence for his liking. This was law, not scientific research, you looked at the facts first and then created your theory. Doing it in reverse often made for a weak argument, what little evidence you were able to pull together appeared to make a much stronger case thanks to confirmation bias, not to mention if there was little or no supporting evidence it could easily lead to the unethical fabrication of things such as witness testimonies.

Arthur hadn’t been sure why his mentor had decided to approach the way he had but Alined intended to turn everything around, make Uther the victim, Merlin the criminal. His theory was that Merlin’s magic actually hadn’t been fully restrained and it was the tool that he had used to set his entire plan in motion. Due to his supposed magical strength Merlin had become the leader of the magicals, he had caused the explosion that destroyed SIM-D, setting those imprisoned free, destroying the tools and the research that would help restrain them, and gaining the attention of the world. He had made himself out to be a martyr, such an innocent young man, imprisoned for the way he was born, he hadn’t asked for any of this, driven to suicide by it all but he had been sure to leave behind his propaganda. Vlogs about how no one deserved this kind of treatment, how despite everything he couldn’t hate his captors, they were doing what they believed was right, he just wished no one else had to suffer the way he suffered. He was trying to frame Uther and make magicals out to be victims so that they could roam free, they’d be deemed human, in fact they pretty much already had been before the public could even hear Merlin’s lies, would be given the same freedoms, the same rights, would be protected, and then they could run rampant. The only reason the magicals were currently behaving was because Merlin had convinced them that it would be worth it, if Uther and Aredian were locked up no one would be left to stop them, then they’d attack, and there’d be little anyone could do about it. This narrative had made sense to Arthur, he had felt a renewed sense of belief in the cause. This would explain why despite magic being evil there hadn’t been a single recorded incident since magic had returned to the world. It would also explain why despite all the damage to SIM-D and the laboratory equipment no one had been injured by the explosion. It would explain how the hard drive containing all the vlogs, all the pro-magic propaganda, the evidence that made his father look guilty, had survived the blast. It would explain why there was no body.

Upon hearing this Arthur had thought it would almost be more beneficial to find the man. He understood the limitations, even without magic tracking down someone would be extremely difficult but if he was found it was practically case closed. If Merlin Emrys was found not only would the murder charge be dropped but it would prove his father’s point. Even the most sympathetic, the most skeptical would have to stop and think. If the magicals were truly innocent why fake a death? If they found Merlin Emrys everything would be over and the world could go back to how it was; a place where magic didn’t exist and therefore everyone was safe. Due to all of this Arthur had felt determined to find the evidence Alined needed, he had gone in optimistic, they could do this and once they won the case they would get the authorities to look into the disappearance of Merlin Emrys and once he was found everything would go back to how it was, and for once his father might be proud of him.

And then he had read Merlin’s file.

And then he had started watching the videos.

And then he had started to get to know Merlin.

And then it was over.

It had been their ultimate mistake letting Arthur meet Merlin. Do you know what happens when an isolated person, someone who’s been taught to fear the world and to depend on an abuser, is exposed to a vulnerable person whom they know can’t hurt them, witnesses all their intimate secrets? They fall in love. It wasn’t just the vulnerability that Merlin unwittingly showed, nor the fact that loving him was safe, it was the contrast. The reason Arthur fought so hard for his father, why he was so willing to believe him, was because he was trying to keep the only person who ever showed even the smallest amount of affection towards him, who actually gave a damn, in his life. He had been taught that love and praise was a reward, that it had to be worked for and earned and even then many people wouldn’t deliver, and then he was given Merlin, someone who loved so freely, someone who couldn’t even wish ill upon his captors because not only did two wrongs not make a right but hating them would only make him miserable.

It seemed inconceivable that anyone wouldn’t love Merlin. Despite everything he was so kind, so compassionate, didn’t wish ill upon anyone. He’d been incredibly intelligent and adorably cute only to grow into the most handsome, strong man Arthur believes will ever walk this earth. His life had been a tragedy but he really had become a martyr, it had been his death that had destroyed SIM-D, that brought magic back to the world, and hopefully would ensure Uther’s imprisonment. Thanks to his sacrifice hundreds of others would never need to suffer through what he had gone through. Perhaps Arthur was getting ahead of himself, as impossible as it seemed should Uther and Alined get their way not only would Uther be found not guilty but the magical peoples would be deemed dangerous, the world would agree that they needed to be controlled, a new version of SIM-D would be built and their work continued.

Once again it was Merlin who would determine earth’s fate. Alined’s argument regarding Merlin’s death was definitely the weakest of all of them, but it was also the charge Odin would have the hardest time supporting, Arthur himself isn’t too fond of classifying Merlin’s death as a murder. Alined’s argument goes beyond that though, he had the audacity to claim that Merlin was still alive, that the destruction of SIM-D was the result of Merlin using his magic to fake his own death and escape. The circumstances were strange, Arthur will admit, but he doesn’t fully understand how magic works, perhaps Merlin’s magic had ensured that Merlin’s last wish was granted. Arthur knows though that Merlin didn’t stage it, he wasn’t nefarious like that, even if he had wanted to Arthur knows that he’d been completely cut off from his magic and didn’t have the means to escape, otherwise he would have done so sooner, and Alined had the nerve to say that because his body hadn’t been found he was alive. Was going to paint him to be some sinister shadow just waiting to strike. Arthur didn’t want Merlin’s image to be tarnished like that for even a second but he had no clue how to avoid it. In order for Uther to be convicted the whole world would have to bear witness to Merlin’s secrets and listen to Alined’s lies. Then they would be convinced that not only was Merlin an innocent victim but that Uther was a monster and Alined a liar and then hopefully some sort of justice could be served. Arthur just hopes he’s right and everyone else will see what he sees in Merlin.

Like everyone else working on the case Arthur had been given a specific set of instructions concerning how to go about sorting through the evidence. They were all to read through the intake paperwork first, included with that paperwork was a draft of Aredian’s scientific report detailing the purpose and methodology of the experiment. After that they were to watch the last vlog, a term that had baffled Arthur when he’d first been given the instructions. The others at Alined’s firm had been given specific time periods to cover, every second of video, from the first time Merlin was thrown into the cell right up to the last time the footage was backed up, which was nineteen days before the explosion, had be broken up into chunks for analysis. Yet Arthur had been given free reign, perhaps because they thought him too incompetent to catch the small details they needed, perhaps they had simply divided the work already and were too lazy to reassign sections, perhaps they even thought he would catch something the others wouldn’t. Arthur had planned to do as he was told, he really had, except after reading the intake papers he didn’t watch the vlog. He’d been too curious.

The experiment had been cruel from the start. Right away Merlin was different, details jumping out at Arthur from even the intake forms. For instance age of intake had been five, the youngest of any of the victims. Secondly he had been _violently_ taken, sometimes an arrest, as they were called, turned violent due to unforeseen interference, but normally they waited until the target was alone and vulnerable before striking. The period between discovery and arrest had also been abnormally long, the reason for this apparently because they had been waiting for an opportunity for an easy extraction but eventually accepted that a five year old was always accompanied by an adult and made their move. Arthur’s not sure how they first got wind of Merlin but they knew he was strong from the get go, easily a seven or higher. Arthur doesn’t understand the tests involved to determine a person’s power but once Merlin had been captured and a more in depth assessment could be done Merlin’s power level clocked in at a ten.

The problem with an ordinal scale is that there’s always the potential for more, for example you could be asked to assign a rating of one to ten to indicate how much pain you are in, if you break an arm as a child and have never experienced anything more painful you will be inclined to rate your pain as a ten but years later you realize it was probably closer to a seven as there have been other, more painful, events since. If Aredian gave out tens to anyone who seemed remarkably strong but then received someone notably stronger how would he indicate it? He’d either have to invent a new scale or allow a rating of ten to mean two separate things. Perhaps because of this not a single file Arthur had gone through had a power rating greater than nine, but Aredian had thought five year old Merlin had been worthy of that ten, had unwittingly accepted him as the strongest case of magic he would ever come across. Obviously Aredian had wanted him to experiment on, not only was his power something of interest, but the fact that he was so young made him a bit of an enigma. Out of all the experiments Aredian’s sick mind could have dreamed up he had decided Merlin was the perfect person to use to solve one of his long standing problems.

Aredian’s ongoing struggle was that despite his best efforts, all the resources expended, the carefully constructed experimental regimens, the allotted recovery times, the powerful test subjects were still expiring too rapidly for his tastes. He had noted that they were capable of living normal lifespans outside of captivity, apparently an eighty one year old level nine had come into his lab the picture of health yet he couldn’t keep a twenty year old level seven alive for more than a year. He had theorized that their magic was interacting with a common factor that was present in his laboratory, but not their day-to-day lives, and that this interaction was the cause of their premature expiration. Aredian had narrowed it down to two potential variables that were present in his lab although it could, of course, also be a combination of both. The first variable was the magic suppressors, specifically the long term exposure to them. He theorized that if this was the case magical energy was a vital commodity to strong subjects, the stronger an individual was the more essential the energy was to survival, while it might only minutely impair the immune systems of the weaker ones the stronger a subject the faster they deteriorated. His second theory was a bit more abstract, he theorized that there was a type of magical failsafe, something that could not be stopped by the magic suppressors because it was both internal and perhaps unconscious. It might not even be magic per se but a mutation in the undiscovered section of DNA responsible for the ability to channel magic brought on by stress, a mutation that prevented the cells from undergoing mitosis. If there really was a type of failsafe the second variable responsible for producing it would be prolonged suffering although Aredian had stated that he wasn’t clear on whether suffering was strictly related to physical pain or if it also included the emotional and psychological trauma of being his test subject. Either way something was causing these powerful subjects to experience organ failure, combined with the symptoms Aredian could only describe as insanity he was adamant that it had little to do with the actual experiments he was conducting. That meant if he could determine exactly what was causing the premature expiration he could stop it. Despite all the effort that went into keeping a subject alive it was still less work to maintain a subject than to constantly collect new ones after all, a history was established with the subjects, information such as baseline measurements, long term effects, and unusual reactions were easier to measure in familiar subjects.

So Merlin, five year old, little, innocent, powerful Merlin, was the perfect subject for Aredian to test his theories of premature expiration on. He was young and healthy enough that he definitely wouldn’t expire from old age or a pre-existing condition, he was stronger than any of the others meaning if there was a failsafe he’d definitely be able to produce it and if it was the suppressors the effects would be detected much sooner than on less powerful subjects. There had also been a long enough delay between when the scanners first detected him and when he was actually arrested that Aredian had the time to have an elaborate cell designed for long term imprisonment. Other than the fact that Aredian would have to refrain from conducting additional experiments, he couldn’t risk throwing any more extraneous variables into the mix else he’d never know exactly what was causing the premature expiration of his subjects and it would all be for naught, Merlin was perfect.

Merlin was to be kept prisoner in the lab and the magic suppressors would prevent him from channeling magic, meaning a few locks would keep him restrained. However the similarities between Merlin and the other subjects ended there, instead of the regular cages and cells the subjects were kept in Merlin was to be completely isolated, the reason for this simply because lack of human contact was a sure fire way to induce suffering. There were many ways to make someone suffer, physical torture, sleep deprivation, mind games, but to make sure a person remained physically unharmed, with the least amount of work? Humans were social creatures and if they couldn’t socialize they often became depressed, this fact combined with the imprisonment was a definite way to make a person suffer. The downside to the isolation was that the cell had to be much larger than a typical prison cell, after all, a guard couldn’t deliver food or take away trash, provide any needed medical attention, preform any maintenance, or even drop off supplies. This meant there had to be a delivery system, a way to make and store food, clothes, cleaning products, a way to clean clothes and dishes.

Merlin’s cell was essentially a fully functioning flat with one bathroom and two bedrooms, it had been equipped with the latest appliances and all the necessary furniture and even food, clothes, books, and toiletries. Of course it also contained hidden microphones and cameras that could observe everything from all angles, they were virtually indestructible even if Merlin noticed them and managed to reach them, and then there were the suppressors in the walls. Merlin’s cell had taken an entire floor of SIM-D, well the cell, the elevator, the stairs, the service corridor, and the observation room. Aredian had had to have a new floor built to accommodate it and do you know how difficult it is to discreetly build another floor underground? An entire floor had to be destroyed and rebuilt. Fearing he’d need to expand again in the years Merlin was captive and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to without ruining the experiment Aredian had had another two floors built above Merlin’s to be left empty until the need and the money arose. The experiment was ready to begin before they’d even captured Merlin.

Arthur’s curiosity had led him to start at the earliest footage, for the life of him he couldn’t merge the idea of a five year old boy with that of an evil sorcerer. His research at that point had said that magic came from Satan, that you had to make a deal with him, power in exchange for eternal servitude. Arthur knew little of what laws would govern this deal but in his experience any type of deal with a five year old wasn’t legally binding. It wasn’t just that Merlin wouldn’t be the age of majority, he’d have no clue what the terms and conditions meant so how could he agree to them? How would he even complete the deal? Surely a five year old didn’t have the patience for satanic ritual? Law stemmed from Christianity so perhaps it did not matter if a child didn’t know what they were doing, but the issue still remained that there was no way a five year old would have been able to do the deal alone, and after some brief digging through the files it was clear he couldn’t have been coached by someone else who had also made the deal. His father was out of the picture, so much so that there was no record of who his father was, his mother had no magic nor did anyone else he interacted with on a regular basis, it was procedure to investigate those closest to someone with magic, as magicals were often found in small groups.

The footage, while colourized and probably of high quality for the time, didn’t allow for acute observation, but the small unconscious body that two of Aredian’s assistants carried in and laid on the floor looked like that of a regular child. When Merlin woke up alone there was clearly pain, perhaps from the sedative, perhaps from the tests, perhaps from a combination of both. There was groaning and then he started calling out for his mum, only after there was no response did he seem to remember what had happened and had jolted up. Anguish was written on his tiny face, it was clear that every movement hurt, yet he had gotten up, had kept calling for his mum, had explored the space, had started calling out for anyone, finally he had collapsed on the living room floor again and just started bawling. Arthur hadn’t seen him attempt to use magic even once. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to think of the boy as evil, he was a child, practically a baby, just like any other. Listening to his cries brought out some latent paternal instinct that made Arthur want to run to him and hold him in his arms. Arthur didn’t even like children, especially crying children, but something about Merlin drew Arthur to him.

Merlin had cried for a long time, far longer than Arthur thought possible, then it seemed like he was fighting off sleep, probably thought something bad would happen to him if he slept, until he finally succumbed. Arthur fast forwarded through him sleeping but noted the restlessness and unusually lengthy twelve hours he slept. When he woke up it was like he was a completely different person. His biological needs won out and he started to demonstrate his ability to look after himself. He knew to wash his hands after using the bathroom, drank plenty of water to rehydrate himself and made himself a sandwich, _with spinach_ , what five year old willingly submitted to spinach? He talked to himself throughout this, most of his self-talk was instructional, such as “you need to drink plenty of water,” and, “okay where would the glasses be? Up top? Use that stool,” and, “you have to find something healthy to eat, you can’t just eat those biscuits.” Some of his speech was probably meant to be soothing, statements like, “mum’s not dead, she’ll come save me. She might be hurt though which is why she’s taking so long. It’ll be okay,” and there was a bit of sass in there too, “well you have to eat and if the bad guys don’t want you eating their food they could at least say something, it’s not nice to knock someone out and then leave them alone for hours, they could at least tell me why I’m here.” Once he had finished eating and had put his dishes in the sink he explored further, muttering about there being no windows, and how there had to be a door because obviously they had got him in there somehow, then he had gone looking for a phone. Being unsuccessful at all his tasks he finally turned his attention to the television, it was fully operational but didn’t hold his attention for long, he ended up yelling at the ceilings and banging on the walls demanding to be let out, for someone to tell him why he was there. Eventually he broke down crying again before convincing himself to get up and make another sandwich for dinner.

Merlin slept in the bed that night, even found and managed put on some pyjamas, and put the clothes he had been wearing in the hamper. Arthur knew little about children but so far he had the impression that Merlin was very mature for being just five years old. It was before going to bed though, between using the toilet and brushing his teeth, that Merlin took a moment to stare at the shower and Arthur realized that while his abilities might have seemed advanced for a five year old he was still just a toddler. He would need help with certain tasks, he probably couldn’t manage bathing himself, especially in an unfamiliar tub. He had again been fast forwarding through the hours Merlin slept when his own alarm had sounded. He was rightfully confused, being as sleep deprived as he was he thought the sound was coming from the video at first and only after watching Merlin continue to sleep peacefully for a few moments did he pause the video, then take his headphones off, then finally glance toward his phone in shock, confirming the time by looking at the bedside clock.

He had forsaken sleep, tried to regain some semblance of normalcy for the day, he had to go to work, he had appointments, clients to meet with, cases to design. He had shut any windows regarding his father’s case and Merlin right after he had shut off his alarm. Perhaps he could blame his inability to focus on his lack of sleep, but it felt like something more. He couldn’t stop thinking about Merlin, had this itch to just open the file again and continue watching.

After an unproductive day at the firm he had returned home and collapsed, exhausted. The next day was no better even if he had caught up on his sleep, he needed to keep watching, had to satisfy his curiosity. Besides, he had to watch the videos to help his father, it wasn’t like it was a waste of time. He gave himself a stern talking to though before resuming the activity, he couldn’t let his father’s case interfere with his own work, he wasn’t getting paid to help his father and it wasn’t just about the money, his clients were counting on him. So he had continued watching, right where he had left off, watched a few hours each day, going through the videos sequentially. It was as if Arthur had completely forgotten his orders, and in a way he had, he had become so obsessed with Merlin and his life in captivity that he had forgotten that he wasn’t even supposed to be watching that footage yet, that there was a vlog he was supposed to watch first.

It was the morning of the second day that Merlin made the first fatal mistake. By some strange logic that only children understood Merlin decided to attempt a fry up for breakfast instead of just trying to pour himself a bowl of cereal. By some miracle he only burned himself once and even knew to stick the burned hand under water. Unfortunately it was clear that Merlin knew little about cooking and with his short attention span had decided that everything was cooked by the time his finger stopped hurting. Everything had been warm enough, he hadn’t flipped the toast so it was almost burnt on one side and untoasted on the other, the problem had probably been the bacon. A few short hours later Merlin came down with bad food poisoning.

Arthur understood that the isolation was part of the experiment but it had only been a few days and it seemed clear Merlin wouldn’t make it. Surly Aredian would rather have Merlin alive and restart the experiment or devise a new one than let him die? Merlin had no medicine, no true way of looking after himself, it was clear that the ordeal would not be over after a few bad rounds of vomiting. It went on for days. Merlin had spent most of that time unconscious by the toilet, trying to wash away his sick with just water for he had run out of soap and there was little in the ways of cleaning supplies, only consuming tap water and even then he often threw that back up. Even watching the video the first time Arthur was aghast with this type of treatment towards a child, even if Merlin were Satan’s minion such treatment towards someone clearly helpless really made them no better. He had turned back to the records to look for answers.

A written report was typed up every week by whoever had been tasked with watching that week’s videos. These reports were essentially a summary of the videos and contained various observations such as Merlin’s apparent mental and physical health, how well he seemed to be sleeping, what he had eaten, and a breakdown of how much time he spent on various activities. Despite the scientific reports meaning Merlin was physically harmed and the surveillance videos being an invasion of privacy Arthur hated these reports the most, and the reason for this is a single line at the bottom of each report. And that line reads “predicted chance of survival until this time next month” followed by a percentage. Those percentages in the first few months had been low, much too low. Arthur was probably being too superstitious but he felt that if someone gave Merlin a low survival percentage it was almost as if they encouraging something bad to happen.

By some miracle Merlin survived the food poisoning but his problems had just begun. He was running out of everything, from soap and toilet paper to clean clothes and food. He managed to miss the single page of instructions they left him, off to the side on a coffee table, or perhaps he saw it but couldn’t read. The note told him to write out whatever he needed in the notebook provided, rip the list out, and slide it through the letterbox slot on the delivery compartment before five pm on Fridays and that everything on his list would be delivered through the compartment on Saturday. He was to also use the same compartment for garbage removal which occurred on Wednesdays. By the time Merlin had even discovered this note it was two weeks into the experiment. He had desperately tried to write a list, asking for medicine, plasters, burn lotion, toilet paper, soap, clean clothes, and food, he probably hadn’t even known what day of the week it was but desperately put his note in the compartment. He had been lucky for it had been a Friday and the next day the compartment actually opened when he tugged at the handle and there was a small stack of supplies awaiting him. They had been cruel though. He was five and he was ill, he didn’t know how to spell all the words, didn’t know to specify, Arthur supposes it was supposed to be some sort of lesson, giving him aspirin instead of something for his stomach, cloths instead of clothes, unhealthy packaged snacks that wouldn’t help him recover instead of a variety of things he could eat like fruit and veg and bread and peanut butter. They were watching him, they knew what he had needed, even if they hadn’t been watching they would have known that cloths probably meant clothes and food meant a variety of edible things. The survival rating was at nine percent that week. It seemed a miracle Merlin had bounced back but somehow he had.

Arthur didn’t know much about children but Merlin had seemed particularly clumsy. He would slip in the tub, fall off the stool, cut himself with scissors, knives, cardboard, and plastic, burn himself on the stove, on hot food, even on water from the taps. The learning curve was steep, what normally took humans about twenty years to learn Merlin had to pick up quickly in order to survive. They had left various resources around the cell to help him learn these skills, mainly manuals and other instructional books. Like most kids when Merlin first discovered the bookshelf he went for the children’s books with their large text, simple sentences, and bright visual aids. After a quick Google search Arthur had discovered that most kids would have barely begun to read at five, and even though Merlin was almost six he was clearly very advanced both in academia and at real world problem solving.

Not even a week after the vomiting had subsided Merlin had the washer and dryer running and had managed to clean pretty much everything. He made a point of going through some of the cookbooks to get the proper spellings of words for when Friday rolled around again having learned from the previous week that writing “food” just wouldn’t cut it. A photo of the list accompanied the report and it was clear that Merlin hadn’t really thought about what he would do with the ingredients, was just requesting things he thought were healthy, reasonably a bit obsessed with returning to full strength, perhaps even knowing to stay away from meat and dairy for his list contained none. This time he spelt clothes correctly, despite managing to work the washer and cleaning what they had given him most of them had stains that did not come out, additionally both the observer and Arthur felt that Merlin didn’t particularly like the clothes they had left him. It was yet another reason for Arthur to want bludgeon someone over the head when Merlin opened the shopping bags to discover dresses and clothes for grown adults, yet another lesson to be more specific with his requests.

Since Merlin wasn’t an adult and hadn’t spent years learning how to survive on his own his days were consumed with tasks necessary for survival. Merlin didn’t multitask, he also was a bit of a perfectionist and could easily spend half a day folding laundry, these menial tasks which adults could do in a matter of minutes often took Merlin hours. One of the hardest things for Merlin was actually remembering everything. He’d lose track of time and not get his list in the slot in time, he’d be stuck with his trash for an extra week because he forgot to take it out, he’d burn his food or let it go cold because he got distracted by something on the telly, he’d forget to order essentials like toilet paper, dish soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, he’d forget to wash his hands after touching eggs and meat. Arthur would watch the following week’s footage with bated breath whenever the survival percentage dropped significantly due to one of these mistakes. Merlin was resilient though, he wasn’t happy about it, would throw a few tantrums, would collapse on the bed and cry for hours or scream to be let out, of course crying, screaming, and having tantrums didn’t actually solve anything, it just wasted time and often left him tired and miserable. Arthur still thought that he was better at self-regulating than most adults were, stepping away from the task that he was frustrated with and deciding to do something else instead, and normally the something else was something productive like making a meal, doing dishes, or tidying up. Occasionally, when he was most frustrated, he’d just turn on a kids’ show to watch mindlessly or read a picture book just to prove to himself that he _could_ read, even if he was struggling to understand the food safety manual. Things were still rocky, a single mistake could mean doom, but it had seemed like Merlin was getting a hang of everything, had begun to settle into a routine, and so had Arthur.

Arthur had taken to playing the videos in the background, he’d go about his flat with them playing similar to the way a person would leave the telly or radio on just to fill the silence. It was nice to hear the sounds of Merlin going about his day as Arthur went about his. He hadn’t become negligent enough that it was just background noise, no, he looked over occasionally when there was an unfamiliar noise, even rewound a few times to make sure he hadn’t missed anything important. He probably started pretending at this point, seemed to settle down to his own dinner as Merlin was eating his, clean when Merlin was cleaning, work while Merlin was reading. He still sat down in the evenings and weekends to properly go through the footage and the accompanying files. These sessions were less enjoyable, there was a lot of footage to get through and a lot of it wasn’t really important or interesting, he took to trying to skip through Merlin sleeping, fast forwarded through Merlin’s routine, there was only so many times you could watch someone do laundry or dishes before it became mundane. 

Arthur had been just as surprised as Merlin probably had been when white vapor started coming out of the vents as he was fast forwarding through footage of Merlin trying to read. Arthur had paused the video, gone back a few frames and replayed it, Merlin had run to the nearest vent to investigate. This seemingly was the worst thing he could have done for he passed out, hitting his head. At this point Arthur had been frantically searching through the reports to figure out what was going on. He discovered the answer by the time the two people, in what looked like hazmat suits, had entered into the cell and injected Merlin with something before carrying him out. Apparently they had taken him for a checkup, the first of many. According to the paperwork the checkup was actually less sinister than Arthur had expected, in truth, other than the fact he’d been unconscious throughout it had been pretty standard. Height and weight had been taken, it was noted that he had lost weight which was to be expected, first due to the near death experience thanks to the food poisoning during the first two weeks followed by a week of decreased appetite and lack of whole foods. More blood had been drawn, the results of which Arthur couldn’t interpret. Apparently despite the bump on his head from the fall, the loss of weight, the weak immune system, and the numerous cuts, burns, and bruises, Merlin was still in decent health. He was returned to the cell approximately three hours later in the same clothes and placed exactly where he had fallen.

It was clear that Merlin hadn’t understood what exactly had happened. After checking all the clocks and the news he confirmed that about three hours really had passed, he had felt and hissed at the lump on his head, checked it in the mirror before returning to living area and standing on the chair in attempt to peer into the vent. Frustrated with being unable to see inside he had tried to pull the grate off. Arthur’s still not exactly sure what Merlin was trying to do but he went around checking the all the vents, his face filling the screens as he tried to see into the vents where the cameras were coincidently located.

Eventually Merlin gave up and gave in to his rumbling stomach returning to his routine looking a bit defeated but acting as if nothing had happened. Something changed though, Arthur would often catch him throwing looks of suspicion at the vents after that. After that first month things did start to improve; he had finally been able to get clothes that he liked and that fit, had asked for more storybooks, possibly books he had had at home for he seemed familiar with them, he had even managed to get some toys and a stuffed dragon that he seemed to love and had named Killer, something that even whoever had been writing the reports had commented on saying perhaps it was a threat of some sort. Either way Merlin was no longer just surviving he had moved on to attempting to make the most of the situation, of trying to make his life a little less miserable.

Merlin was not left completely in peace though. The checkups occurred approximately once a month but seemingly at random meaning Merlin had no way to prepare for them. Gas containing a sedative would be pumped into the cell through the air vents, it was potent but since the space was large it usually took a few minutes to knock Merlin out. Aredian’s assistants would then enter the cell and administer an additional sedative and then take him to Aredian to be examined. He’d be returned a few hours later exactly where they had found him. As he grew older these checkups became less frequent, Arthur was unsure if this was because Aredian was losing interest in the slow progress of the experiment or if it was for the same reason young children were taken to the doctor’s for checkups much more often than adults went. While it was taking a while Aredian was certain his experiment was working, apparently Merlin had developed a few ticks in the second month, something they weren’t sure what was causing, perhaps the laundry detergent, perhaps the dust in the cell (Merlin knew to wash himself, his clothes, and the dishes, even to wipe off the table and counters but he didn’t dust or vacuum), or perhaps this really was a result of the suppressors.

The next major event had probably been when a commercial had reminded Merlin of the name of the tool needed to get the vents off. Arthur wasn’t sure who was in charge of doing the shopping for Merlin or what their instructions had been but whoever it had been that week had actually complied and got Merlin his screwdriver. It had taken Merlin a good week to get even a single vent off. He at first didn’t understand why the screwdriver wasn’t working, then he’d struggled to change the bits and find the right bit, once the vent was finally off he had stuck his hand in, managed to get a cut from the edge of the vent and emerge with nothing but a handful of dust, the camera too far back to reach. He had then fallen because at six years old he didn’t know not to put a stool on top of books on top of a chair and then stand on that. He’d requested a torch the following week. Somehow Merlin knew right away what the black box was, had confirmed that they were in all the vents. Thinking about it out of context is was really creepy to be watching a child from all angles. There was even a camera in the vent above the bath, angled so they could see him shower or bathe, another in the ceiling fan to get an aerial view of the bathroom, and a third behind the two-way glass mirror. Merlin’s next move had been to order “duck tap” (there was definitely multiple people on delivery duty, some of them obviously kinder than others, inferring Merlin’s needs and buying clothes his size or buying an item even if the spelling was off), he got his duct tape but he probably didn’t realize his mistake until it had almost been too late. He’d coved all the grates in tape and screwed them back on, but there was a reason there were so many vents and it wasn’t just to stash hidden cameras. Being ten stories down the vents were essential for airflow within the cell. It had been a large enough space combined with the fact that he had failed to cover up the fan and the overhead range that the effect had been slow but soon enough he had found it difficult to breathe. He didn’t seem to make the connection and Arthur had feared he’d go into the bedroom to try to sleep it off, close the door and never wake up. After he’d changed into his pyjamas he peeled the tape off, just off the vent in the bedroom, before going to bed. The next day after struggling to breathe in the main living space he gave in and took the tape off all the vents. Again Arthur found it amazing that a six year old could manage to make the connection and problem solve the way Merlin did, he wondered if this seemingly heightened intelligence was related to the magic.

Unable to reach or block the cameras he made a point of trying to turn away from them, it was a matter of modesty. He’d shower facing the tap even if it meant getting a face full of water, would get changed quickly in the corner of the bedroom facing the wall, would even try to hunch over to cover himself on the toilet, pulled the blankets up over his head when trying to fall asleep.

Arthur felt bad. He felt like a pervert. It was clear Merlin didn’t want to be watched, especially when he was vulnerable, be that because he was in a state of undress or because he was sleeping. Arthur had never intended to watch him change, sleep, or shower, in fact he often tried to skip over or fast-forward through those parts, after all he only had six months to watch all the many years’ worth of footage. While Alined could argue that Merlin could be doing magic in bed, either while actually asleep or while faking it, Arthur had not been told that he had to watch him toss and turn for around ten hours each night, nor did he desire to. He tended to skip the ten hours after Merlin turned out the light, rewinding or fast-forwarding as necessary to the point where he woke up. Arthur found he only really watched the videos when something new happened, be it the taping of the vents, an accident, or even Merlin talking to Killer, who’d been nicknamed Kil. Yet watching Merlin had been like watching a cute woodland creature on a nature documentary, even watching him change and shower had been fascinating and Arthur couldn’t help but watch, silently cheering him on, holding his breath and hoping he wouldn’t slip, get soap in his eyes, or struggle to get into his own clothes. He hadn’t even been aware that he had been disrespecting Merlin’s privacy until after the duct tape incident, from then on Arthur made a point of not looking at the screens for the bathroom and tried to look away whenever Merlin changed. It was an issue of consent, Merlin hadn’t consented to being watched and while Arthur was in a difficult position because he _had_ to watch the footage in order to put together a case he could at least allot him the decency of privacy when he was most vulnerable.

Years passed, things changed. Over the years he had discovered more cameras, the ones in the ceilings, walls, even in the fridge and telly. Had taped over them only to be knocked out almost immediately, not for a checkup but for someone to come in and remove the tape from over the cameras and even take the roll away. Eventually they even upgraded the cameras. Merlin had managed to find the door out of the cell but unfortunately it could only be opened from the outside. He’d made numerous attempts to escape too. Had made a sort of gas mask in attempt to avoid the sedative gas, had pretended to pass out as soon as the gas started in hopes they would open the door before the gas even took effect, had managed to lift himself into the vents a few times before he’d grown too big, according to the report if not for the security grate, installed just for this reason, he would have managed to shimmy himself to the observation area. He’d tried opening the delivery compartment at the same time as the person on the other side, but it was designed in such a way that only one door could be opened at a time. The worst had been when he had crawled into the compartment, let the door close behind him, had apparently then tried to open the other door, but they didn’t open from the inside, he’d become trapped and the small compartment didn’t have a vent or anything, only the letter slot. Someone had taken pity on him decided to pump the cell with sedative, eventually he breathed it in because he had his face pressed to the letter slot, they’d removed him and decided to do a checkup early while they were at it. He had actually managed to almost suffocate according to the reports. He’d learned his lesson and hadn’t attempted that again.

As expected Aredian hadn’t been too patient, he couldn’t restrain himself completely despite the consequences. At first he’d done regular checkups once a month and a power assessment once a year, it was the pain from the power assessment that had finally given Merlin the evidence he needed to understand why they kept knocking him out. Surprisingly Merlin’s power allegedly increased over time. After about three years of observation with no strong indications that the suppressors or the captivity were causing a deterioration in health Aredian had decided that while Merlin was knocked out for his checkup he could to perform some “safe” experiments. The reason for this ostensibly due to the lack of available test subjects but Arthur felt it was more out of boredom and malicious intent, although Aredian said at the very least they should speed along the expiration.

From that moment on he’d always perform a few experiments when he had Merlin unconscious. He’d do brain scans while depriving Merlin of oxygen, tested to see if his magic would react to the presence of magical artefacts, injected various substances into him, investigated the rumour that strong magic meant faster healing. Most of these experiments were filmed, Arthur felt the need to watch not only because he didn’t quite understand the written documents but to give Merlin a sort of moral support, yet he also often found that he couldn’t watch, the experiments either making him vomit, cry, or both. For some reason Aredian seemed to think there was actually something demonic involved in magic that Christianity could remove, or at least affect somehow. He did experiments where he exposed Merlin to the crucifix, had assistants read parts from the bible, sprinkled him with holy water, had even attempted an exorcism. Arthur thought these particular experiments were ridiculous but at least they didn’t harm Merlin. The other experiments though… They didn’t even bother to bandage any of the punctures or injuries. Sometimes whatever they gave him left him disoriented, weak, or unable to function. He had learned to stock a full first aid kit, as well as an emergency repair kit for when things broke down, bandaging the wounds and disinfecting them wasn’t too difficult but with who-knows-what in his system sometimes taking medicine for the pain or the side effects made everything worse.

Sometimes it wasn’t even the experiments that had a negative effect on Merlin’s health. Since Merlin hadn’t been fully vaccinated combined with the fact his immune system wasn’t being exposed to anything in his cell he was extremely vulnerable to viruses. Aredian, picture of the perfect doctor that he was, obviously hadn’t been sanitizing properly and over the years Merlin had picked up all manner of colds and flues and even a few bacterial infections from dirty equipment or even the people present during the experiments and checkups. When he was going for checkups once a month he seemed to be ill more often than not although, thankfully, most of the time he seemed to contract nonlethal colds rather than flues accompanied with vomiting and fever. It angered Arthur though, that he heard Merlin cough and sneeze and sniffle more often than he heard him speak.

It seemed like Merlin would always be one mistake away from dying.

The best day of Merlin’s captivity had actually occurred on one of these experimentation days. When he awoke he couldn’t even get up but he had looked up and seen it and he had managed to laugh, and when that resulted in a cough he had just grinned almost manically at the ceiling for hours. It had definitely been a major turning point when his request for a computer with internet was granted. Neither Merlin nor Arthur could figure out exactly what they did to the internet so that Merlin could use it but could never send anything. At first Arthur had thought they had turned off the send feature on the modem, but as Merlin explained in one of his vlogs his computer had to be able to send some data otherwise he wouldn’t have even been able to perform a Google search or navigate a webpage. Despite this it seemed his computer was more or less cookie proof, Merlin had even stated how the advertisements and suggested pages didn’t reflect his internet history at all and they should because that was how internet marketing worked. Both Merlin and Arthur had concluded that it was some technology unique to SIM-D, or, as Arthur thought, they could even be using magic. Merlin had been able to stay much more up-to-date with the internet, in the past he had had to rely on what he saw on the telly and even ask for catalogues to figure out what he should request be bought. He had needed to do a lot of shopping too, being so young he quickly outgrew clothes, he needed food, toiletries like toothpaste and shampoo, he’d even request various toys he had seen on TV. Since he gained access to the internet he was exposed to many more products and could also look up reviews before deciding to try something. The internet also was a lot more instructional than any book could be, whether he needed to watch a video showing him how to fix his leaky tap, find out how to pronounce a word, or wanted to try a new recipe, it was all there instantly. He didn’t even have to wait a week for a cookbook or instructional manual.

Merlin had figured out the computer in no time and spent most his time on it. Unlike most children though he wasn’t interested in games or even funny videos he was fascinated with learning, so much so that he had had to create lists for himself about everything he wanted to lookup. It wasn’t just about information that was necessary for his survival either. Sure, he looked up recipes and product reviews and sought out new ways to exercise to burn off energy and did all sorts of research regarding healthy living (he took up yoga and meditation and was very serious about it and it was a bit strange seeing a nine year old sit peacefully for an hour surrounded by incense and candles), but he also decided he needed to learn everything kids his age would be learning at school. History, geography, maths, sciences, he learned it all, he even read bloody Shakespeare and put himself through the agony that was calculus. Part of the reason he did this was because he was bored and took the saying “knowledge is power” to heart but Merlin wasn’t a quitter, surviving wasn’t good enough for him he wanted to live. And live he did. With access to the internet he truly flourished. It wasn’t even about having fun, he had hope, in one of his vlogs after complaining about struggling with exothermic equations he had explained that the reason he endured such frustrations even though they weren’t essential to his life at the moment and they made him miserable was because when he got out he’d need to know all of this to write his GCSE’s. To see Merlin so hopeful so many years down the road, after every atrocious thing that had been done to him, to see him refuse to be miserable, refuse to let his captors ruin his life, empowered Arthur. If Merlin could do it so could he. 

If Arthur had to say what Merlin liked best about the internet he would definitely have to say Youtube. Merlin was extremely lonely, hadn’t had contact with another human since he was five, whenever he was awake the telly was on just to make him feel a little less alone. At first he had naturally gravitated to shows geared towards little kids, he was five for God’s sake, what five year old wanted to watch things like news, sports, soaps, or talk shows? But there was a certain type of show that he gravitated towards, so much so that even his captors had made note of it. He liked shows that addressed the children directly, shows he could interact with, he’d talk back to the telly or play along. Even as he grew older he’d often watch these types of shows even though they seemed to have nothing to do with his preference for instructional programs, it was very strange to watch a nine year old watch the news so seriously, or choose to watch a cooking show over a flashy cartoon. Unfortunately those children’s shows, while they might have alleviated his loneliness some, were made for toddlers, the high pitched voices, repetitive instructions, and simplistic content quickly got old. That is why Merlin turned to Youtube, so many Youtubers addressed their audience directly, looked into the camera, and their videos weren’t geared towards little kids either. Merlin wasn’t being lazy when he went searching for instructions on Youtube rather than reading them on another page, he had started to think of these people as his friends, familiar faces and voices that he would watch every week.

He didn’t talk back as often to the computer as he had the TV when he was younger, but Merlin did want to experience the other side of the conversation. He had listened to many Youtubers but he wanted to try being the one to speak. So he’d requested a video camera and started making his vlogs. The first few he had made he’d had to end abruptly when his voice gave out, his body wasn’t used to talking, sure he had talked back to the TV, talked and sung to himself, to Kil, but to speak about an issue for longer than ten minutes? Merlin discovered he loved talking though, loved the idea of being able to share his thoughts and opinions with others and vlogged every day. Over the years the vlogs got better, in part because Merlin upgraded his equipment but also because he had learned to better operate a camera and microphone, and how to act in front of them. He had dedicated half the spare bedroom to his equipment, had tripods, cameras, backdrops, even fancy microphones and lighting (the other half of the room remained storage). Merlin had learned coding at one point, had thrown all his videos on a fake Youtube page. He had made other things as well, fake webpages, mini quizzes, but the Youtube page was his crowning glory. It was actually how Arthur navigated the vlogs. He could have sorted through the folders and watched them individually but it was easier to watch them the way Merlin intended. Arthur felt he was also honouring Merlin’s work by doing this.

Merlin admitted to finding vlogging cathartic, despite arguably having little to discuss he always managed to speak about something, sometimes even doing two vlogs a day if he had a lot he wanted to talk about. His vlogs covered variety of topics, there were how to videos on cooking, cleaning, repairing, exercising, instructional videos where Merlin would teach his audience about something new he was learning be that coding, calculus, taxonomy, then there were the rants, these videos often felt like reading Merlin’s diary, he’d discuss everything and nothing, what he made for dinner, what he’d need to order on his next list, strange dreams he had. Merlin separated his videos into three categories, the first was “daily rants,” the second was “intellectual rants,” in these ones Merlin often took on a philosophical perspective, an interesting one had been Merlin’s three parter explaining how there were only two possibilities of what occurred after death. The final category had simply been labeled “:’(“ and Arthur hated these videos. These videos were the ones Merlin cried in, the ones where he complained about the unfairness of it all, about how alone he was, about how he wanted him mum, how he wasn’t sure she was even still alive, how he was going to die in here, about how the experiments were getting worse, more invasive. These videos weren’t just limited to his rants but anything Merlin vlogged about that he found depressing ended up in this folder. Even some of his tutorials that he felt were depressing ended up in this category.

He’d done tutorials on how to feel less alone, ways to trick the body into thinking it was with someone. He recommended hot tea and warm baths, stuffed animals and even plants were great to talk to, the stuffed animals because they had faces and you wouldn’t feel too moronic naming them and the plants because they were actually alive and apparently grew better when spoken to. Merlin liked baggy sweaters, he’d stuff a pillow or sometimes Killer under the shirt to make it feel like he was sharing it with someone. He liked listening to others’ voices, recommended leaving the radio (which he streamed through the computer) or telly going, he mentioned that at night this could keep you up and you needed something quieter, more repetitious, apparently he had recorded the sound of a beating heart and liked to play that. He showed Arthur how to arrange the bedding so that it felt like someone was spooning you and how to hold a pillow to make it feel like you were spooning someone else. Sometimes cuddling hot water bottles on the couch also helped. Merlin’s favourite was a hot washcloth, he’d get the water near boiling, squeeze it out slighting, then run it over his neck, face, and shoulders. He showed Arthur how to wrap his arm around himself in such a way that the angle made it seem like it was someone else’s arm. _Hold your own hand, rub your own back, it’s okay to coo at yourself, when I’m at my worst and I just can’t stop crying I try to become another person, pretend I have a lover and he’s beside me, wiping my tears, stroking my hair, he’ll tell me “shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Calm down sweetheart, I’m here. I’m here.”_ Merlin never really spoke of who he thought of, obviously it was a man but he never went into details about him, was he larger or smaller than Merlin, what colour was his hair, what colour were his eyes? It was almost a blessing because Arthur could fool himself into thinking that it was his image Merlin used. In reality he wasn’t even sure if Merlin had a type or what it was and if he fit it but Merlin knew of him, had seen photos of him, so it wasn’t completely inconceivable.

Before the vlogs it had been like falling in love with a character in a movie or on a show. He couldn’t deny Merlin’s innocence, how cute he was, but it was like watching a show following the protagonist as he tries to survive and escape, Arthur hadn’t connected with Merlin on a personal level even though he had already loved him. The vlogs had made Merlin a person instead of a character. Yes, Arthur had heard some of Merlin’s inner thoughts when he spoke to himself, to Killer, and later on, to his plants, but it was completely different when Merlin stared directly into the camera and addressed you, intending to be heard. He felt a connection to Merlin through his vlogs, no longer was he just an innocent child in need of protection, it wasn’t just Arthur’s paternal instincts rearing up, suddenly Merlin felt like something in between a younger brother and a best friend. There was a love there but it wasn’t sexual or romantic, Arthur would have never suspected it could turn into something more.

There was one instance that changed everything though. Merlin had been going on eighteen and Arthur wasn’t sure if it was due to whatever he had been injected with during one of the experiments or due to the germs he had been exposed to or perhaps a combination of both. Merlin had clearly been disoriented and sore from the moment he regained consciousness. Originally, it had appeared that his destination was to the sink to get a glass of water, but it was too taxing and in the end he dragged himself into the bedroom and into bed falling into an abnormal slumber. With this unnatural sleep Arthur was unable to predict when Merlin would awaken, had been simply fast forwarding through the footage praying that Merlin would wake up soon and that the effects would have worn off when he did. It seemed to be getting worse, it was clear he was sweating, probably with fever, and achy, Arthur feared infection, he also feared that this was somehow the end. Merlin was unable to remain conscious for long, waking up momentarily and struggling to relieve the heat some by undressing but only managing to get a sock off or one arm out of his shirt before passing out again. As always though he was constantly aware of the blanket, it stayed firmly up to his neck despite his thrashing. And then Merlin woke up gave a shrug that Arthur interpreted as “fuck it” and kicked it off. He was completely stalkers, and he was beautiful, and Arthur couldn’t look away.

He hadn’t seen Merlin so exposed in over a decade, had still thought of him as a child, but it was clear Merlin had physically matured. Arthur had actually been a bit envious, Merlin had the body of a teenager out of a chick-flick, in other words a body that should have been completely unobtainable for someone his age and therefore played by some twenty, or even thirty, year old who dedicated their life to looking good. In part it was because Merlin took care of himself, he went beyond eating healthy, he exercised every day sometimes for hours, he always washed his face twice a day, even moisturized, brushed and flossed his teeth, combed his hair. Arthur really shouldn’t have felt jealous, it was partly due to the captivity that Merlin was able to look the way he did, if he didn’t exercise to burn off energy he would never get to sleep, before he had access to the computer he really didn’t have much to do and while he could have just watched TV, or later on spend the day on the computer, Merlin liked being productive and taking care of himself was productive. It was unlikely that any of this would have been possible if Merlin didn’t have so much time on his hands. It also helped that Merlin had won the genetic lottery. From his unblemished skin to his ability to grow a full beard, a feat Arthur still couldn’t manage at twenty-four, to his sharp cheekbones and plump lips, Merlin was certainly beautiful.

Arthur had always recognized that Merlin was attractive, but in Arthur’s mind all of his attractive features amalgamated into that of a cute child. Merlin was adorable with his too long limbs, his big blue eyes, and his inability to fill his clothes, he was tall but to find things that fit him length wise he ended up in large sizes that he seemed to swim in (it didn’t help that Merlin had a penchant for overlarge hoodies). Not to mention he was still as clumsy as ever and while he had seemed serious as a child he almost seemed childish now because he continued to do some childish things such as sleeping with his stuffed animals, talking back to the telly and computer, and dancing around the cell humming to himself. Arthur knew he wasn’t really a child anymore, he’d grown drastically, lost the baby fat around his face, had started shaving at fourteen and had started using deodorant at twelve. Then there was that time when Merlin had dove under the covers in the middle of the day after witnessing the insinuations of a sex scene on the telly and Arthur hadn’t been sure at first what he was doing. When he finally caught on he had thought Merlin’s attempts at discretion were cute and pitied him because he realized that Merlin would never take the time to explore and enjoy his body because he was too ashamed of being observed.

Perhaps it was because Merlin was younger than him, or because he had witnessed him as a toddler only a few weeks before, but despite all evidence indicating otherwise he had continued to think of Merlin as a child, which is why it was so distressing to find him suddenly naked and flushed and moaning upon his bed. The moment Arthur’s brain registered what he was witnessing he had tried to skip forward but Merlin had lain naked for days not to mention it was already too late. Arthur’s trousers had tented the moment Merlin had kicked off the blankets and his body would not calm down no matter what insults he barraged himself with.

He felt ashamed of his arousal. Not only had he invaded Merlin’s privacy but to react in such a way, when he was suffering no less! From then on he couldn’t go back to imagining Merlin as a kid, despite his apparent love for overlarge hoodies that made him look small by comparison Arthur now knew that under his baggy attire Merlin was all muscle, knew that Merlin was well endowed, that he had a light dusting of fur. This coupled with the fact that he knew Merlin was gay had him suddenly fanaticizing about being lovers. It wasn’t right but it was hard to fight, especially because when he denied himself during waking hours Merlin would feature in his dreams. He found it difficult to continue trying to respect Merlin’s privacy, wanted another glimpse of his body, was tempted to wank to the footage of Merlin pulling the covers up over his head and making barely a peep as he tried to satisfy himself.

Arthur had been screwed. He was officially arse over tits in love and a large part of him wanted to feel guilty about it. Merlin was a teenager, he hadn’t consented to being watched, he was a victim, and here Arthur was sexualizing him. Yet another part of Arthur’s brain asked him where the harm was. People got off fantasizing about others all the time, imagined themselves in relationships with people they never would be with. Merlin constantly spoke about how he didn’t want anyone to suffer, especially not how he suffered, hoped that somehow he could help others. It might not have been how Merlin imagined but he was helping Arthur, so was it really such a bad thing? Eventually Arthur was able to continue watching without feeling too guilty, he continued to respect Merlin’s privacy, tried not to look when Merlin didn’t want to be seen but otherwise allowed himself to play out his fantasy.

Suddenly Arthur found himself at the end.

He’d been confused, hadn’t heard from his father or Alined in months, although it felt like much longer than that. He couldn’t believe how imprudent he had been, magic wasn’t evil. It was his father and everyone else who had worked at SIM-D that were sinning against God, not those with magic. For some reason, perhaps because it had been three in the morning at the time and he had just finished binge watching a bunch of Merlin’s vlogs, when he reached the last video he had found himself thinking he’d have to wait until tomorrow to watch the next one, that he was caught up but could watch the security footage of Merlin in the meantime to find out what he was up to. Then the thought idly crossed his mind _what was so important about that last vlog that they wanted me to watch it first?_ And then it was like whiplash when he remembered the reason he was watching these in the first place was because Merlin was _dead_. **Dead.** How? There was nothing written in the reports about his death. Actually the reports ended on the last day of November. In a disoriented state of confusion he had gone to watch the security footage only to realize that also ended, only a day after the reports, December first, Merlin’s birthday. The vlogs clearly went further than that, the last one was the evening of the eighteenth.

Then he found another video. It hadn’t been “uploaded” to Merlin’s Youtube page, it hadn’t even been put in the Youtube vlogs folders. It had just been an unnamed video file in the case folder he had been sent. Arthur hadn’t been prepared for it, honestly didn’t see it coming. It was rather short, Merlin had cried throughout. The message had been simple, _enough_ , he’d gone on a bit more about how he hoped something he had done in his life would benefit others, that he hadn’t wanted anyone to suffer the way he had. Then he had angled the camera up. Came back into focus as he stepped onto the chair. Slipped the noose of bedsheets around his neck. Exhaled. Kicked out the chair. His hands had instinctually come up to grasp at his neck. His eyes had gone wide. Then they had flashed gold. There was a second or so of static before the video ended. Arthur had stared unseeing at the screen for hours.

He’d taken the rest of the week off work.

.

.

.

Suddenly it’s too much. He’s fighting his way out of the sheets and is on his feet before he can really even contemplate it. His fight or flight response telling him to run away, but he can’t run away from his feelings, from his memories, from the past. He sinks to his knees as the panic attack begins in full Merlin’s face seared across his retinas. God, he’d been so scared. The way he had clutched at the makeshift rope, the horrible noises he had made. He’d been alone and scared and hurting and Arthur hadn’t been there to tell him that he loved him, to tell him to hold on, that he was coming to save him. Instead he’d been watching fucking mindless Youtube videos in the house of his killer. Wave after wave of pain hits him, he’s helpless to it. He rocks and cries and suffers, it’s always going to be like this, it’s never going to end. It does finally subside and he starts to become aware again.

His throat burns and he’s sure his face is a mess. He reaches blindly for the light before managing to turn it on. He locates tissues and cleans his face, finds the glass he had been using earlier and pours the rest of the half-finished bottle of water into it with shaking hands, then sips at it slowly. He’s exhausted. He’d been exhausted after he had finished the Skype roleplay video, thought he had cried himself into torpor and that he’d be able to sleep because of it. Look what had happened then, what will happen if he tries again.

He feels the beginnings of a tension headache and pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he should just stay up, watch telly or something? He’s already staring at the safe where he’d locked up his laptop. He knows exactly what he wants but he isn’t sure if he should give in, watching old vlogs won’t magically bring Merlin back to life and put him in Arthur’s arms.

Apparently this soul shattering sense of loss is just regular grief and like any grieving person he’ll eventually have to move on with his life, and that means giving Merlin up. How does anyone give up the one they love? Love’s a choice and it’s easier to stop choosing to love someone if they are no longer there, but if you truly love someone wouldn’t it feel like the worst kind of betrayal to willingly stop loving them? Maybe it is different with others, he often hears that they think their loved ones would want them to move on and be happy. But there is no “on” for Arthur, and since Merlin never met him it’s not like he’d be looking down from Heaven begging Arthur to _please, just be happy_. No one cares about him, cares if he’s happy, and Merlin, even dead, makes him happy, why should he ever give him up? It’s a happy-sad though, sometimes just because he knows Merlin’s dead and he’ll never get to save him or have a conversation with him or hold him, sometimes because he can’t stand to know how miserable Merlin was underneath it all. Maybe it’s also because he’s not sure what sent Merlin over the edge, he’d seemed fine the day before, had said that while he was unhappy and thought he’d be better off dead he’d never resort to suicide because it would mean they had won. For the same reason he tried to make the most out of his life, tried to avoid being miserable.

With this in mind Arthur avoids rewatching the fake video chat even though it’s one of his favourites since it’s easy to play along. He goes for one where Merlin’s in a decent mood, doesn’t cry or talk about dying or about his imprisonment, he goes for another favourite, one of the ones where Merlin talks about him, where Merlin had given him hope, that hope was more or less shattered now. Still… he liked to believe that it was true and he could still have a family.

For years Merlin had had no idea where he was or even why he was there, although he did brainstorm up many possibilities and was quick to draw the correct conclusion, being that his imprisonment was related to his magic. Arthur found it a bit humorous that it was Merlin who had furthered Uther’s paranoia over technological security. A brief slipup when installing wi-fi in SIM-D had allowed Merlin to piece together where he was, once he had seen “SIM-D Lab” listed as an available network he had been able to Google what SIM-D was, where it was located, and who it was run by. Merlin had been able to compile a lot about his captors from that small slipup. Arthur had watched as Merlin even discovered him, his Facebook page that Uther had later demanded he delete, mentions of him in various newspaper articles, pictures of him with his family at various events. He was a bit disappointed that Merlin had been more interested in Morgana than him.

“So apparently Morgana’s run off,” is how he started his daily vlog, “not too much of a surprise given the constant fights she and Uther were having and the fact that she’s now a legal adult,” and isn’t it sad that even Merlin knew Morgana had run off before Arthur had found out? “What I’m more curious about is _why_ , what were they fighting about that was serious enough for Morgana to run away? And I think I’ve figured it out,” and hadn’t that been a surprise? Here Arthur was watching these vlogs under the pretense of finding evidence that would exonerate Uther and yet found instead his life being explained to him. 

Merlin had started his elucidation with photos, “Here’s a photo of the Pendragons at Christmas Mass last year. You can see Morgana scowling at Uther if we just zoom in a bit,” and since Merlin had become a bit of a computer wizard (Arthur doesn’t think he could ever be that productive just because he was bored) he was recording the image on his screen, zoomed in and circled Morgana’s face in red, “Now in this photo Uther’s ignoring her but if we look at this photo,” and he pulls up another, of them leaving Mass and getting into the car, Geoffrey holding the door, and puts it beside the first, “we see that someone managed to capture the exact moment Morgana managed to say something Uther found surprising and upsetting. Do you see how the expressions are a bit similar? The creases between the eyebrows here and the thinning of the lips? Now you might be thinking _okay, what’s the point Merlin, almost anyone can make a similar face_ , at least I assume you’ve drawn that conclusion and just in case you don’t believe me,” the thumbnail suddenly enlarges to cover the full screen and Merlin does a surprisingly accurate impression while saying, “while I find this scowl uncomfortable because I’m forcing it it’s likely anyone could learn it from their parents, guardians, friends, etcetera, etcetera.” He relaxes his face again and shrinks his image back to a thumbnail, “This wasn’t my grand point, this is just what gave me my hunch so I started to do some research. Now I’d like to think I know a decent amount about genetics, I find the topic fascinating so I’ve done a lot of research, mind you I’m no expert, didn’t even learn it in the few days I got to attend school, but just roll with me here.” The two photos disappear to be replaced by a new one of a young Morgana, Arthur recognizes it to be the photo that accompanied the articles explaining how Uther had become her guardian after Gorlois died. “Here’s a photo of young Morgana and the reason I’ve chosen this one is because here she’s too young to worry about styling her hair every day and while there are older pictures she’s been prepared for the camera in all of those. Notice her hair is curly? It’s not super curly, but there is a definite curl to it. Curly hair is actually a dominant trait, so I’m just going to explain this in a Punnet square over here.”

Sure enough Merlin’s got a blank page on screen and starts filling it out, “So a capital C is going to be used to represent curly hair and a lower case C for straight hair. There are other genotypes that code for things like thickness and colour, we only care about curly verses straight. Now every person receives an allele, think of it as a letter, from their mother and father, and two alleles make a genotype, a genotype determines the phenotype, that’s the characteristic that’s going to be expressed. There are three different ways curly hair can be expressed, so long as one parent gives their child an allele for curly hair the child will have curly hair. However, for someone to have straight hair both parents must give the child the straight hair allele. This is why straight hair is considered recessive and curly hair a dominant trait. Again, where am I going with this?”

“Well finding a picture of Gorlois was easy enough, here’s his university graduation photo, he had long hair at this time, long _straight_ hair. We now know that his genotype is cc, with Morgana’s curly hair that only leaves her with one possible genotype, she would have received the straight allele from her father and the curly allele from her mother. So,” Merlin drags out the word and the chair squeaks as he reclines clasping his hands behind his head, “was this video simply to give you a genetics lesson? No, no it wasn’t. I got stuck here for a while, I knew what I needed but had a hell of a time finding it,” Merlin resumes his original position and pulls up another photo, it’s not black and white but it’s old enough that the colours look more sepia than anything else, “This here is a picture of doctors using their brand new ultrasound machine on a clearly pregnant lady at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital in 1969. It just so happens that this lady is Morgana’s grandmother, but what I’m interested in is the little girl off to the side. That’s Anne, Anne before she got a perm or went through her rebellious phase and kept her hair short, Anne before the chemotherapy and the wigs, before she would have bothered to style her hair. Her hair’s straight,” Merlin pauses for dramatic effect and this is when Arthur finally reached the conclusion Merlin had been coxing him towards, when the bottom of his stomach gave out, “alarms should be going off in your head right now because unless everything we know about genetics is wrong, Anne and Gorlois can’t be Morgana’s biological parents. Since we clearly have pictures of Anne pregnant we know she’s the biological mother, but that means Gorlois isn’t the father.”

“Uther and Gorlois have supposedly always been close, “like brothers” some sources say, it wasn’t unusual for them to stay over at each other’s houses, for Anne to be with them, on several occasions when Gorlois was on lengthy business trips Uther would go check up on Anne. This was especially true right before Morgana’s conception probably because Anne had been feeling ill, the beginnings of the cancer though they didn’t know it yet. Here’s a picture of the three of them together, Uther has longer hair here,” Merlin zooms in to clearly show Uther’s long hair, it falls just below his ears, it’s obviously curly, Merlin doesn’t have to say anything.

Merlin’s reasoning made sense to Arthur, he knew Merlin had come to the correct conclusion. He didn’t bother seeking confirmation, what was to stop Uther from lying? He had already lied and concealed so much, besides he had to play the loyal but stupid son role if he wanted to continue receiving information. Chances were Uther and Alined had debated keeping this video in, but it would have seemed suspicious if they took it out, Merlin had done a daily vlog for almost six years at this point, and the surveillance cameras would clearly show him recording the video. If they left the video in they probably thought Arthur too loyal and stupid to believe it, if they took it out that would mean they had something to hide and should Arthur ever get a hold of it he would be more inclined to believe it. Arthur hadn’t thought it possible to hate Uther more, but somehow concealing the fact that he and Morgana were siblings made everything so much worse.

Merlin wasn’t done though, this was about more than Uther being Morgana’s father. At this point Merlin allows his image to fill the screen, “When Anne dies the relationship between Uther and Gorlois becomes strained, but I think Anne took her secret to the grave and it’s simply grief and bad memories keeping Gorlois away. Later on though reporters catch them arguing, there’s even a few photos of them going at it. I don’t think it’s serious enough at first for Gorlois to have found out, I imagine Uther wants things to return to the way they were, stop mourning, come over more often, bring Morgana. Maybe scolding him, saying his grief is affecting his parenting, calling him unfit to raise Morgana. This goes on for several years but then something obviously changes, I figure this is when Gorlois found out.”

“The evening of Gorlois’ death supposedly he and Uther had a huge row. There’re no pictures of the fight or anything, but supposedly a servant at Pendragon Manor, whose identity is not revealed, witnessed and reported the event. Gorlois had apparently stormed in, ranting about how he was Morgana’s father and he knew what was best for her and Uther would never get to be a part of her life, they had the rest of the conversation in Uther’s soundproofed office. About an hour later Gorlois storms out, Uther yelling after him telling him to wait and listen to reason. And of course we know what happened later that evening.” Arthur remembers that fight, had heard a car driving up from his bedroom, had looked out and recognized it as his uncle’s, had raced downstairs expecting a friendly visit, maybe a souvenir from Gorlois’ most recent trip. Gorlois hadn’t even seemed to register his presence, marching right past him, already yelling, to Uther’s office. Arthur had followed, his father had mindlessly dismissed him, telling him to finish his homework even though he had been on summer holidays for a week now, before closing the door. Arthur had watched Gorlois leave from his bedroom window. He thinks he even knows which member of staff had gone to the press as Ruadan had mysteriously gone missing shortly after.

“I doubt anyone suspected, the weather was bad, there were witnesses to the argument, Gorlois obviously wasn’t calm, his rage had probably clouded his vision. Apparently he had forgotten to yield, was hit by the lorry, he dies, lorry driver ends up in hospital with non-life-threatening injuries, it’s an accident, case closed. But I know Uther Pendragon runs this hell hole. I know that even though what I go through is horrible I’ve probably got it easy compared to the others, and I’m sure there are others as there’s an entire facility and they obviously managed to create magic suppressors long before they captured me, so again I might be jumping to conclusions here but if Uther’s okay with ruining our lives I wouldn’t put murdering his best friend past him.” Arthur has to agree, he’s seen the files, knows that Uther authorized the murder of hundreds, arranging someone to take out Gorlois and make it look like an accident, all before he could get to a lawyer or maybe a police station and ensure Morgana never saw Uther again, was something he could picture Uther doing. “I’m not sure how Gorlois found out but to me it’s quite clear he did and whatever he discovered was solid evidence, he’d already been yelling about it when he got to Pendragon Manor so this obviously wasn’t just a hunch.”

“Now to conclude this vlog and bring us back full circle. Morgana’s run away and I want to know why. It’s clear that over the years Uther and Morgana haven’t been close, this could be for a number of reasons, maybe he spoke badly about her father, maybe she thinks him a shoddy parent slash guardian, maybe she thinks him sexist. After all, it is a little weird that Uther sent his son to boarding school but insisted Morgana continue to live with him. I’ve come to the conclusion that she found out, not only that Uther is her biological father but that he killed Gorlois. The reason I believe she found out both of these truths is because despite everything she and Arthur seem to get along, even if she hated Uther wouldn’t she have stuck around long enough to say goodbye to Arthur? Then again he apparently has his own flat in Cambridge, maybe she’s run to him. I guess I’ll have to wait a bit longer to find out. So far Uther doesn’t seem to care but Christmas is coming up and the Pendragons always spend that together, maybe Morgana will come back or maybe Arthur will refuse to attend in which case I can assume she really is staying with him and has told him everything. I’m kind of hoping for the latter actually.”

“As Uther’s only son Arthur’s set to inherit this place, from what I can tell he doesn’t work here yet, he might not even know about what’s going on. If Morgana can expose Uther as a dissembler and a murderer then maybe, just maybe, Arthur will refuse to keep this place running,” he flashes a sad smile at the camera as he says this. “I would like to believe that one day I’ll be free but with modern medicine being what it is Uther could easily keep going for another four decades. And I, being without access to modern medicine, at least I don’t think they bother to vaccinate me when they knock me out and do their testing and they certainly haven’t helped me in medical emergencies in the past,” he rolls up his sleeve a bit and shows the camera the large scar, it’s actually hard to discern now, faded with age and Merlin being as pale as he is, but Arthur recalls the incident that led to it; Merlin had even dedicated a vlog to it. A few months after his sixth birthday Merlin had begun to attempt cooking again, in his struggle to lift the pot to drain the pasta he had forgotten to turn off the burner. He’d left a tea towel too close to it, had gone off to eat dinner in front of the telly, the entire counter had caught fire before he’d even noticed. He’d managed to put it out, somehow, but in the attempt his too long sleeve had caught fire and his arm received some nasty burns, that on top of the fact that he had suffered from smoke inhalation. At least they had been “kind” enough to clean up and replace everything the following week when they knocked him out for testing. They hadn’t intervened during that incident or any of the other times Merlin’s life was on the line. “Will be lucky to see my sixtieth birthday. Yet I’m quite sure there are more people like me, people with magic, I’m not sure how many and I’m not sure how many they’ve been able to get their hands on for government testing or whatever. I have to have hope though, even if it’s not for me, if this place shuts down others will benefit from it.”

He pauses for a moment before telling the camera, “Well, I think I’ll end it here today,” and then in what is probably supposed to be a showman’s voice says, “don’t forget to like, comment and hit that subscribe button down below, and feel free to give me suggestions for my next video!” but then the cheesy smile fades, the act stops, “Yeah, I wish… Then again, I doubt I’d ever be a Youtuber if I was free. Don’t know what I’d do actually. Definitely wouldn’t be making fake vlogs every day. Ugh! Okay, this is becoming too depressing, I’m turning you off,” he says to the camera, and he does.

Arthur has reason to believe Merlin, he’s tried brainstorming other possibilities and come up blank. There’s just one problem with Merlin’s theory, one that Merlin of course would not have been able to predict and therefore had left it unanswered: Where was Morgana now? Arthur doubted there was a person on earth who didn’t know about the case, it was a little hard to miss magic returning to the land. Morgana had been his best friend, yes they had often fought, but surely she didn’t hate him? The fact that they really were related should have been even more reason for her to return. Even if she did hate him for some reason, if she thought Arthur was involved in the affair, that he was just like Uther, wouldn’t she have returned to testify against him, to ask the authorities to reopen the case on Gorlois’ death? Yet here they were ready to start the trial and she was nowhere to be found. It worries Arthur, had something happened to her? Had Uther done something to her? Of course the one person who might know something was also the one person he couldn’t ask, he still couldn’t risk exposing himself as being anything other than the loyal son who couldn’t think for himself.

Arthur longs for her, for an explanation. He supposes it’s because he’s lonely and in need of someone he can confide in. He’s always been lonely, a part of him has also always known that, but now with the mental distance from Uther, the man he had always sought advice from in the past, and having experienced a type of no boundaries relationship with Merlin he finds himself bereft. He knows what it is like now to love someone and while rewatching the videos brings him comfort it also brings pain. Merlin’s story is over and there’ll always be a piece of his mind aware of how it ends, he can’t just forget that Merlin’s actually dead, that he can’t save him, that he’ll never actually get to meet him. He’s also gone through some of the vlogs so often that he has them memorized, fears that soon there’ll be nothing new left for him to discover. He’s witnessed Merlin’s entire life pass, thirteen years gone in six months. He wants more, it’s like when your favourite TV show suddenly ends and didn’t resolve the conflict the way you wanted it to, you can’t stop thinking about it, and you try to satiate yourself by watching all the deleted scenes and listening to the commentary but it doesn’t work. Arthur has already gone back and watched many of the more mundane moments, fears he’ll become desperate enough to invade Merlin’s privacy, watch him sleep and bathe. Even if he gives in he will eventually run out of footage to watch, documents to read, then what? He needs someone in his life, doesn’t know how to make that happen, had hoped Morgana would just turn up and help him out. He still holds hope that she will. Maybe she’s waiting for Uther to be convicted and sent to prison, maybe she doesn’t feel safe. Yet in the meantime, or should she simply not return, he doesn’t know what to do.

He’s contemplated finding Merlin’s mother. He’d made her sound amazing and Arthur could almost justify involving himself in her life, he’d apologize, give her all the files he had, grieve with her. The thing was Merlin was better with computers than he was and while they had limited his ability to communicate with the world they hadn’t blocked his access from anything. Merlin had failed to find her and Arthur never got any further than Googling her and the address from which Merlin had been taken. There was no record of her and he would have gone to the house had it still existed but the entire block had been slated some years ago and an assisted living complex had been built in its place. If there had ever been a trail it had obviously gone cold. Arthur was alone in the world.

His alarm could barely rouse him, it was just an annoyance reminding him of how fucked his life was. What was the point of getting up, of going to the court house, of sitting behind Uther for hours while Alined and Odin droned on? What was the point of any of this? He wanted to be with Merlin, if he had some guaranteed way of getting what he wanted he’d do it in a heartbeat, fear of pain and dying be damned. There was no point on dwelling over the what if’s, if he wasn’t going to kill himself then he had to live, had to do his duty, do what was expected of him, do what it took to keep himself alive until he was put out of his misery. He’d die eventually right? Hopefully it’d be sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

_His breathing’s turned shallow but it has steadied some. Maybe this is destiny, maybe this is for the best. Hadn’t he just last night admitted that no matter the trial’s outcome it wouldn’t be good news for him? Yes, it was time to go. Maybe he and Merlin would be reincarnated together, could be together in their next lives._

_…_

_Why wasn’t his attacker doing anything? He had just about come to terms with dying but this waiting would kill him long before this damned knife apparently did. He couldn’t even hear the other man breathing._

_A cough._

_Arthur didn’t know how to explain it but for a moment everything just shifted. It had shifted back just as quickly but it was like getting your eyes tested at the optician’s, a lens suddenly being flashed before you, either bringing the world into focus or obscuring it. As important as this shift seemed to Arthur it could have easily been a figment of his imagination, panic, pain, hyperventilation. There was something else of importance though, that cough hadn’t come from behind him._

_“Who—who else is here?” he supposes it’s not that important, especially if he’s going to die, but it seems underhanded to not be informed that there’s more than one person in on this._

_“No one,” the man behind him replies. It angers Arthur, he feels entitled to know how many people condone his murder._

_He opens his mouth to protest when the coughing starts up again. It sounds phlegmy, the type of cough that signifies a bad cold that would have Arthur both sympathizing and reaching for his hand sanitizer. At first it’s just the coughing but as it continues the world seems to shift again, flipping rapidly back and forth between lenses, almost quivering, shaking, until the illusion breaks apart and Arthur’s left in what must be reality._

_That cough’s getting worse, there’s wheezing involved, but it’s a familiar cough. It can’t be, it’s impossible, his mind’s playing tricks on him but…_

_“Merlin?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost don't want constructive criticism on this chapter but feel free.
> 
> Ready for the bad news? I'm back at work/school/hell tomorrow (Monday). It's my last year and I've got to write a thesis, do my GRE, apply for my PhD, not to mention my physical health has never been worse, I'm in and out of doctors' offices, and my life's been on hold because of it so I've got to finish my license, rake together a few hundred hours of volunteer psych experience and a few thousand dollars for grad school. This was supposed to be a short piece and finished before I went back but obviously that didn't happen. What I'm trying to say is while I want to keep writing this (I just got to the good part, damn it!) I don't have the time, we'll be lucky if I even look at it again before the term ends and at that point I might have lost all motivation to (live) write. So I'm sorry for leaving you with such a cliffhanger and I will try to return eventually (maybe I'll be lucky and the first few weeks will be slow?) but this will probably be the last update for awhile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, I'm still alive _and_ I'm still writing this. Amazing, isn't it? Apparently I also am still a masochist as I have to get up for work in about three hours XD. 
> 
> I think I told you guys I would have a chapter up during winter break so apologies for the blatant lie, I didn't realized how short winter break was (only 8 days) and while I did write most of this chapter in that time I simply did not finish. I'm also still in school, that's right, no summer vacation for me! So not only will I be sleep deprived tomorrow I have to finish a paper (since I was working on this today), continue studying for the GRE that I'm writing in less than two weeks, and I'm supposed to have my entire thesis finished by Friday (I have an intro, a shoddy intro at that, and some half analyzed data, I'm screwed). 
> 
> Obviously I like this story, I'm still writing it a good year after the idea was first conceived so I want to I'll have the next chapter up soon but I don't think that will happen. In the life plan I drew up for myself in middle school I didn't factor in a gap year between undergrad and grad school that I unfortunately now have to take so I have no clue what I'll be doing come September, I assume work of some sort. That being said no promises on when the next chapter will be uploaded. Who knows, maybe working full time will result in me having more time than being a full time student has granted.

The coughing ceases rapidly, like the person is trying to restrain it by holding their breath, but it’s a losing battle as a few seconds later it starts up again, sounding, if possible, worse.

Arthur has the mind to check behind him and ensure that it is safe to move before he actually does. There’s no one there. He unconsciously reaches for his throat as he rounds the bed. He realizes that here’s no blood, no mark, it doesn’t even hurt. It confirms his suspicions, there was never anyone there, it was all just an illusion. He jumps when he finally gets a glimpse of the other side of the bed for there is an undeniably inhuman figure. It’s humanoid, but seems to be entirely composed of golden light, not bright enough to blind but definitely luminescent, slightly translucent. It’s holding another figure, a complete contrast to itself and the source of the coughing, definitely human in little more than dirty rags. “Merlin?” he repeats again but before he can get closer to get a look at the face the man’s scuttling away. What’s more concerning though is that the thing has stood up and looks like it’s about to attack. It has no face so technically it can’t look angry but somehow it feels angry, feels like it’s on the defensive and about to attack as it slowly backs Arthur into the wall opposite the human.

Arthur blindly reaches for something he can use as a weapon, not sure if he can even land a blow on this thing if it comes down to it, but if there’s even a chance that Merlin’s alive he’s not going down without a fight. Just as his hand has closed around the heavy base of a lamp the thing darts away, over to the other wall where the person is still coughing, even seems to be comforting him, patting his back, but it’s not helping. Arthur still hasn’t seen their face but even if it isn’t Merlin he isn’t going to let some poor man die in his hotel room.

He lets go of the lamp and bends down to fetch a bottle of water from the mini fridge, locates the unused glass and pours half the bottle’s contents into it. He takes a step forward when the thing jerks its head up, obviously observing him. He freezes mid-step, heart beating rapidly, before another bout of wheezing has him regaining his senses, “It’s just water, it’ll help,” he’s not sure if he’s talking to the man, the thing, or both, or even if either of them can hear or understand. He continues forward slowly, when he’s about a meter away the thing abruptly stands and holds out a hand, Arthur hands over the glass and watches as the thing takes it, bends back down and convinces the man to sit up. Arthur’s heart freezes, it could be, it might not be. The man’s eyes are closed as the thing tilts his head up and presses the glass to his lips. It’s… intimate, the way the thing tilts the man’s head, brushes a finger over a bearded cheek, Arthur feels like he’s an unwelcomed witness to a tender moment between lovers. The man takes long hurried gulps and drains the glass in three mouthfuls. For a moment it seems like it’s worked, the man takes a few deep breaths before he doubles over again, body shaking, as his coughing resumes. Arthur grabs the rest of the water, brings the bottle over, again the thing won’t let him close, takes it from him and brings it to the man. The man has a thick beard, Merlin had never let his grow out, the hair’s long, doesn’t seem to be the right colour or texture but could just need a wash, the skin’s definitely flushed with fever but underneath that it seems too dark. Arthur’s ready to lose hope when the man opens his eyes after finishing off the bottle. Those eyes, that’s definitely Merlin, there’s no doubt about it, he’s definitely looking worse for wear though, and he’s still struggling to breathe, still coughing.

Arthur grabs the last bottle out of the mini fridge, he still has half a case but it’s warm, obviously the water isn’t really helping but it’s giving him a few seconds of relief. He hands the bottle over to the thing again saying, “Merlin, sip that slowly, I’ll be right back, okay?” he doesn’t wait for a reply instead grabbing the ice bucket and liner, almost forgets his key card, almost has the door closed before he thinks to add, “Don’t go anywhere.”

It takes him awhile to find the ice machine. Normally he wouldn’t go near the thing, too many germs not to mention who knows what’s in London’s tap water, but this is an emergency, Arthur can’t really think of what else to give Merlin, he doesn’t have any lozenges or anything. He must look half crazed running through the halls, a little girl ends up staring at him as he finally locates the ice machine and attempts to operate it. “Would you like some help, mister?” she asks after what feels like half an hour. Normally he’d say no, wouldn’t want to be bested by a little girl, but this isn’t about him, this is about Merlin.

“Please,” he practically begs tone sounding whiney to his own ears.

Arthur’s not sure what she did differently but ice starts dropping into the bucket for her. “Is that enough?” she asks and Arthur quickly nods snatching the bucket back and hurrying back down the hall.

“Thank you,” he yells behind him as an afterthought.

Thankfully Merlin’s not only still there but still working on that bottle of water. He’s finishing it though as Arthur hands over the ice bucket to the thing. “Try sucking on those, Merlin.” Merlin pops an ice cube in his mouth, gives it a suck before he starts coughing again. Arthur goes to pat his back, to provide some sort of comfort, he just wants to be close to him, but the thing pushes him away with surprising strength before fluttering back to Merlin’s side and patting his back. Arthur feels a flash of jealousy then shakes his head at the ridiculousness of it.

It seems this time the coughing was due to accidentally almost inhaling the ice and once it’s back in his mouth and not the back of his throat the coughing finally subsides. Arthur stands awkwardly to the side as Merlin sucks on the ice and the thing runs its hands through his hair. When it takes a piece of ice and runs it over his forehead Arthur jumps into action again heading to the bathroom to fetch the spare washcloth. The thing seems to know what to do with it when he hands it over, placing some of the ice inside, running it over Merlin’s brow. Arthur watches out of the corner of his eye as he locates the shoddy tea the hotel provides and turns on the kettle. He should probably be thankful that not only does the hotel provide complimentary tea but a tea kettle to prepare it in too; he still remembers the nightmare that was New York, finding out that the hotels in the US expected people to brew their tea in the coffee pot leaving it tasting of coffee. Instead he feels irritated, this is an expensive hotel, they should stock better tea, he should be able to give Merlin something nice, something with lemon, there should be honey instead of the stupid packets of cream, milk, and sugar. What good will Earl Grey with milk and sugar do for Merlin? But beggars can’t be choosers and right now there isn’t time to run down to the shops and purchase better.

It’s rather silent in the room as the kettle comes to a boil, Arthur’s about to break the silence by asking Merlin what he’d like in his tea before realizing he already knows, he’s about to ask anyway, just to hear his voice, before realizing it might cause another bout of coughing. He puts in the two milk and two sugar, brings over a few extra packets of sugar because he knows the tea is bitter and sets it on the floor next to the two, receiving what feels like a glare from the thing for getting too close. “You might want to put an ice cube in it to cool it down faster.” He doesn’t get a response from either of them but Merlin pulls the saucer a bit closer and places an ice cube in the mug, lets himself be held by the thing as he continues to suck on an ice cube, dunking the tea bag waiting for it to steep some. Arthur’s hand is itching to touch, to confirm that this is real, to feel Merlin beneath his fingertips. His excuse is that he’s trying to check Merlin’s temperature, he reaches out slowly, ensuring neither Merlin nor the thing are startled, yet he’s batted away by the thing again. Why can’t he touch? He’s trying to help.

He makes a noise of frustration and immediately feels guilty about it when Merlin startles, looking at him in fright, then of course he starts coughing again. The thing’s there though, like an overprotective lover. Arthur’s throat burns and his eyes sting and he’s turned away and crossed the room before the coughing even subsides. He runs his hands over his face as he tries to calm himself, careful this time to remain silent. He feels stupid, he doesn’t know what to do, how to act. That’s _Merlin_ , he’s human, he’s magic, by the looks of him he’s been roughing it and hasn’t had human contact in years and Arthur’s the enemy. That’s… that actually doesn’t help him at all. What was with that illusion? It’s more probable that he wanted to learn about his mother than that he was attempting to intimidate or harm Arthur. Is the only reason he’s still here because he’s too weak to leave? Is this a sign of trust?

And then there’s the thing. What is it? Why is it here? Is it protecting Merlin or acting as a prison guard? Is it completely under Merlin’s control, is it sentient and with Merlin out of choice, or is it controlling Merlin? This is his hotel room, he should be allowed to do as he pleases, he doesn’t want that thing here, he might not know what it is and maybe Merlin wants it here but until he at least knows more about it he wants Merlin alone. The main problem of course being that he doesn’t want to scare Merlin off and he seems easily skittish, hasn’t even said a word to him this far or really even communicated that he’s listened to a word Arthur’s said. Hell, that thing has demonstrated a better ability to communicate and it hasn’t said a word either, it isn’t even human.

Well he can’t just stand here with his back turned. He slowly moves to grab the desk chair, pulling it out and swivelling it around so that he can sit in the direct line of sight of Merlin and the thing. He tries not to stare at them, they aren’t here for his entertainment and he doesn’t want to scare Merlin away, but he’s not going to pretend that he’s engrossed with something else. He’s concerned, he’s curious, he wants answers, and he’s trying to communicate that in a non-threatening way. When Merlin finally brings the mug to his lips and begins to blow on it Arthur interrupts in what he hopes is the most unstartling way he can, “I’m sorry, it’s not very good tea, too bitter. I put two sugar in for you but you’ll probably want to add more,” he can’t be certain but he thinks he gets a small nod of recognition. As an afterthought he adds, “I can get you more milk if you’d like too,” this time most definitely it’s a nod, Arthur’s not sure if it’s just one of recognition or of askance. He gets up and pulls a few more pots from the mini fridge, they aren’t proper portions anyway so two probably wasn’t enough and if they were Merlin can simply leave them out. Unsurprisingly the thing once again acts as a barrier, holding its hand out, so Arthur deposits the pots into the hand, intentionally trying to brush it but either he’s missed or his hand has gone right through the thing. Not trying to be too obvious he doesn’t try again and instead returns to his perch on the chair. Merlin seems to fiddle with the plastic top of one of the pots and Arthur wonders if he’s having difficulty opening it when he finally stills and takes a deep breath, “Thank you,” he croaks, voice unrecognizable. He gives a little cough right after but the kind someone does to try to clear their throat, not the uncontrollable kind this time.

“You’re welcome, but maybe you shouldn’t speak, you don’t want to start coughing again.” Merlin gives another nod, much more distinct this time before finally opening the pot and pouring it into his tea. Then he pours in three more and another five packets of sugar. He doesn’t even attempt to stir it before he takes a small sip. It’s obvious it’s too hot by the way he winces but the thing wraps its hands around his and suddenly Merlin’s drinking it like it’s the perfect temperature. Was that a spell? If it was it didn’t come from Merlin but the thing. Just what exactly is it?

The thing leans Merlin back against its chest and resumes running the washcloth with ice over his brow and stroking his hair while Merlin nurses his tea. Arthur goes back to feeling awkward. It seems the coughing is behind them but he should probably still get medicine or even call a doctor, right? But what if Merlin doesn’t want anyone to know he’s alive? The thing won’t even let Arthur touch him, it’s unlikely a doctor will be allowed close. Arthur was lucky enough Merlin stayed long enough for him to get ice. He could run to the shops, get medicine and food, play the role of a proper host but he risks Merlin leaving. Well, honesty is the best policy, right?

“Merlin,” he abruptly stops mid sip obviously tense, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should call a doctor,” Merlin vigorously shakes his head. “That’s what I thought. But you’re quite ill and I haven’t any medicine, not even lozenges. If you don’t want a doctor will you at least stay here while I run to the shop?”

“I—“ and Arthur physically winces at how bad he sounds, “I’m fine,” he manages to gasp, “Sorry…sorry. We’ll, we’ll go.”

“No!” Arthur’s up before Merlin can set his tea down and he spills it in fright. Arthur feels like a douche. “I mean, unless you have somewhere safe? I could take you?” he says more quietly. Merlin’s shaking his head, “Let me help,” but he’s shaking his head again, “please.” He can’t believe he’s begging.

Merlin’s standing now, the spill mysteriously having vanished, he’s biting his lip, eyes locked on the floor, “My mum?” Arthur almost misses it, is about to ask him to repeat himself when his brain finally processes it.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know anything. Just what was written in the file and I didn’t ask anyone to elaborate.” He fears he has lost Merlin when an idea strikes. “I could ask though.” Merlin looks up in surprise. “I’d find a way to work it into discussions about the trial. I’ll at least find out what those words mean, but you’ll have to give me a few days.”

Merlin looks to the thing, Arthur thinks they may be communicating. Before Merlin can be swayed to leave Arthur attempts to strengthen his case. “Look, I know that if this were a story we’d be enemies, so I know I don’t deserve your trust, that you have no reason to trust me. But I swear, Merlin, I want to help you. I don’t agree with Uther, with SIM-D, I’m just a puppet. I want to make up for what they put you through.”

“Not your fault,” but he looks more hesitant now.

“Just stay, please. I’ll get medicine for you, some proper tea, and we’ll find out about your mother.”

There’s several moments of silence where no one speaks. Finally Merlin nods, “Okay,” he croaks.

Arthur lets out a relieved breath and can’t help but grin, trying to control it so he doesn’t look too manic and cause Merlin to change his mind. “Okay,” he says getting up and beginning to formulate a plan, pacing and running his hand through his hair. “okay,” he says again. “I’ll run down to Boots, it’s barely five minutes away. I’ll get you paracetamol, lozenges, … Lemsip?” Merlin nods, “proper tea of course, perhaps soup?” Merlin’s stomach rumbles and Arthur thinks he’s blushing under the beard. He hasn’t been eating properly, no wonder he looks so small. Arthur wonders where he’s been, what he’s been doing, but that’s not important right now. He’s probably starving, he’ll have to stock up on food. Arthur glances at the time, it’s half eight, hopefully all the tourists will be gone and he’s missed rush hour, it shouldn’t be too busy.

“I’ll get some food but it might take me a while to bring everything back. I’d drive but there’s no parking and it will probably take longer.” Merlin doesn’t answer instead playing with the rim of the empty tea cup. “Do you want me to make you another cup before I go?” Merlin shakes his head, still not looking at Arthur. “Okay, if you change your mind it’s there. Water too. Maybe try to get some sleep?” Then looking around he says, “There’s only one bed but you can have it, I’ll figure something out when I get back.”

“Can’t.”

“Sorry?”

Merlin gestures to himself and when Arthur still doesn’t clue in forces out an, “’m dirty.”

Arthur’s about to say screw it, the maids can deal with it. But Merlin probably won’t want the maids in here if he’s here, and neither of them will want to sleep in dirty linens. Besides, he probably wants a bath. An image of him falling asleep and drowning pops into his head, but the shower’s no better, he could fall. “You can use the bath, I’ll lend you my joggers and a clean t-shirt. But I should probably stay with you, I don’t want you to fall asleep and slip under.” Merlin’s expression shifts, but perhaps because he still isn’t directly looking at Arthur he can’t decipher it.

“I won’t.”

“Just to be safe,” he tries to persuade.

Merlin shakes his head, “Go. He’ll look after me.”

“Wh—?” But before he can even ask Merlin is pointing towards the thing. “And it,” then he quickly corrects himself “he will stop you from drowning?” he asks a bit dubiously.

Merlin nods and Arthur sighs in defeat. “Fine,” he huffs moving over to the dresser, locating a pair of joggers with a drawstring, his smallest t-shirt and then, hesitantly, he holds out a pair of boxer briefs. He’s never had the occasion to lend anyone clothes, sharing underwear’s kind of weird, isn’t it? But when the alternative is a person going commando in your clothes you’d give them the underwear, right? He supposes it doesn’t matter what is considered normal, this isn’t a normal situation. “They’re clean if you want them, not sure if that’s too awkward.” Merlin doesn’t meet his eyes but the thing steps forward and grabs everything from his arms. “Um, clean towel is on the back of the door. I think everything else you need is already in there. There’s also the hotel provided toiletries if you don’t like the smell of my stuff or something…” he trails off realizing he’s not going to get a response, he really should get this over with. “Right, well, I’m off. I’ll be back soon.” Again nothing, so Arthur checks to make sure he has his wallet, grimacing at the fact he didn’t have the chance to take his shoes off and now there are wet footprints that he’ll have to put up with.

He’s opening the door when Merlin calls, “Arthur!” it’s proceeded by a coughing spell and Arthur instantly regrets the fact that his heart speed up at his name, that he was expecting a thank you, Merlin wouldn’t waste his breath on something like that. Arthur pauses, waits as the thing feeds Merlin more ice, as Merlin tries to calm his breathing. Merlin’s glancing at him and then away, as if trying to communicate something but Arthur doesn’t know what. Finally Merlin huffs, lifts his hand and with a flick of his wrist something comes flying towards Arthur. Instinctively he blocks it, catches it before it falls to the floor. It’s the room key that he had left on the desk. “Uh…thanks,” he manages to get out but Merlin doesn’t respond, has gone back to leaning on the thing.

Arthur leaves the suite in a bit of a trance. Of course he knew Merlin had magic, and of course Merlin would have learned how to use it in the years since his escape, it’s just startling is all. Arthur’s seen magic, real magic, on the television, but he hadn’t seen anything in person before. Maybe that’s why that little display was so shocking. When it’s on the telly he can pretend it’s CGI, like it’s a movie, but all of this is real, this is happening. Good God what is he doing? He can barely look after himself how is he going to look after Merlin? And if anyone finds out about this he’s as good as dead.

_This is the right thing to do,_ he reminds himself as he steps into the lift, nodding to the elderly couple coming from above, perhaps from the river view suites that weren’t available at such short notice. Arthur hadn’t wanted it anyway, the executive rooms had a desk where he could sit, work, and eat, a large bathroom and a flat-screen TV, he didn’t need a lounge and dining area and a guest bathroom. Of course Uther at least wanted to get him one of the more expensive suites but he had declined, he supposes he feels guilty. Yes, he’s here for the trial, he’s there to support Uther so it makes sense Uther pay for his accommodation but the fact that he would rather see the man locked up makes him feel like a cheat, even if, logically, he shouldn’t care about wasting Uther’s money. Now he’s starting to regret not accepting a suite, at least it would have a couch he could sleep on so Merlin could take the bed.

Despite being almost nine the streets are still packed and the closer he gets to the square the busier it gets. He checks his mobile for the time as he jogs up Craven, he still has fifteen minutes before they close. He ducks in the entrance the automatic doors not opening fast enough. He’s never been in this particular Boots before but he hopes that the layout is similar enough, and the store small enough, that he’ll be able to find everything quickly.

The foodstuff is right at the front, he’s about to start picking things up when he realizes the medicine is more important and weighs less, he should get the food last. A few lingering customers look at him as he rushes through the aisles but the need to look after Merlin minimizes the discomfiture that would normally force him to slow his pace. He grabs a bunch of medicine and some food items that can be prepared in the room. Tea, instant soup, bread, biscuits, juice, crackers, some cheese, and even a ready-made salad. He makes it up front five minutes before closing and decides he doesn’t want to deal with people, besides there’s a queue at both checkouts but no one at the self-serve.

He quickly realizes his mistake. Bloody thing is temperamental, keeps asking him to remove the item he just scanned from the baggage area. It takes him so long to complete the transaction that not only are the other cashiers done with their queue they’re actually waiting on him so they can close the store. Finally he’s finished but the bloody thing keeps telling him to take his bags and receipt as he’s trying to pack the plastic bags he bought because apparently he’s not being fast enough for it. He barely notices that the staff are waiting for him to leave so that they can close, moving fast not because he’s worried about inconveniencing them but because he has to get back to Merlin.

He lugs the three bags back to the hotel, the bag with the juice is being particularly troublesome, awkwardly digging into his arm. Despite it not being very warm out he is working up a sweat, he isn’t used to walking this fast for this long. He doesn’t notice the hotel clerk as she greets him, already debating if he should wait for the lifts. There’s a large group already waiting, probably coming in from dinner, and there are no doubt a bunch of people trying the get down to go out for the night. He opts for the stairs and regrets it before he’s even two stories up. Finally, he makes it to his floor, to the door of his suite, he then has a moment of panic when he can’t find the key card right away. The bloody scanner’s being difficult again and it takes him several awkward attempts as he tries to fight with the tangled bags and the card reader to get the thing to unlock.

For a moment he fears the worst, Merlin’s nowhere in sight, but then he hears the bathroom fan going and figures he must still be in the bath. He sets down the bags, runs a hand through his hair then collapses into the desk chair and just tries to breathe for a moment.

Merlin finds him hunched over with his head in his hands, he didn’t hear the door open. It’s only when he sees movement, Merlin awkwardly shifting, that he looks up, startled. He attempts a smile but doesn’t think it comes out right. “Hey, I’ve got food and medicine, there’s not a huge selection but I’ll put the kettle on for the Lemsip and you can go through the bags and find something you want, okay?”

Merlin gives a diminutive nod and Arthur quickly locates the box of Lemsip assuming that Merlin won’t approach the bags while he’s sitting beside them. He sees out of the corner of his eye that Merlin still doesn’t move toward the bags but the thing does instead, he idly wonders why, perhaps Merlin’s feeling dizzy and doesn’t want to bend down? The thing picks up the salad and the juice and too late Arthur realizes he’s forgotten to pick up a plastic fork. There are no utensils in the room and just as Arthur is about to apologize and phone the front desk to see if he can borrow a fork the thing picks up a glass for the juice and two wooden stir sticks that Merlin proceeds to use like chopsticks to mix the salad.

The sound of the kettle draws him back to the task at hand when he hears Merlin clear his throat before asking in almost a whisper, “Can I put dressing on all of this?”

Arthur turns to answer and catches Merlin quickly looking away, “If you want to,” he replies a bit confused.

“You—you don’t mind then?”

“It’s yours Merlin, why would I mind?”

A quiet “oh” escapes Merlin’s lips and he says no more proceeding to dress the salad. Once it is prepared he gingerly sits on the edge of the bed and begins to consume it with his make shift chopsticks. Arthur pours water for the Lemsip, brings it over to Merlin, isn’t surprised when the thing meets him halfway to the bed and takes it. Arthur goes over to the bags to find the tea to make himself a proper cup, he probably shouldn’t have caffeine this soon before bed but he just needs something to do that will calm him down and prevent him from doing something stupid that will scare Merlin off.

He tries not to watch Merlin, knows already that it makes him uneasy, but he can’t help but notice how he all but inhales the salad. He must be starving, this combined with the fact that Arthur’s fitted shirt hangs off him confirms his suspicion that Merlin hasn’t been eating properly. It’s been over three years, where has he been? He wants to ask but Merlin seems distrustful enough and so Arthur resigns himself to silence as he disposes of his tea bag.

He seats himself back at the desk with his tea, doesn’t want to seem rude with his back to Merlin but assumes he doesn’t want to engage in conversation, he settles for a compromise, a forty-five degree angle so he’s half facing the desk, half facing the bed.

The thing has made itself comfortable beside Merlin, an arm casually slung around his waist, rubbing at his side. Arthur’s clothes practically swallow him making him appear even smaller and frailer than before. It’s clear he’s recovering from a sunburn and his beard looks unruly but he looks a bit better now that he’s clean. Arthur frowns to himself, his tea does not soothe the ache of inadequacy inside his heart. He wants to help, is helping in a way, but it’s not enough, he doesn’t know what else to do. Merlin has to pause a few times to clear his throat but none of his small coughs lead to a coughing fit, thank goodness. Merlin finishes the salad before he even attempts the Lemsip, Arthur had probably filled it too high, else Merlin could have added an ice cube to cool it down faster. He watches as Merlin purses his lips and blows on it before taking a small sip.

Arthur wants to say something but in the end they sip their respective beverages in silence until the thing gets up, startling Arthur slightly. He watches as it approaches the bags again, retrieves the Vicks rub and the Nyquill, removing the safety seals on both products and tossing them in the trash before returning to Merlin’s side. Arthur concludes that the thing must have a mind of its own, Merlin didn’t utter an incantation, didn’t so much as glance at it, but it knew to fetch and open the medicine. He doesn’t understand it which is perhaps why he dislikes it.

Merlin finishes the Lemsip and sets the empty mug on the nightstand, the thing hands him a capful of Nyquill and Merlin obediently downs it making a slight face. If Arthur weren’t paying attention he doesn’t think he would have caught the quiet “um,” that next falls from Merlin’s lips. “Where do you want me to sleep?” he asks without looking up from his hands.

Arthur clears his throat, “The bed’s yours Merlin.”

“Are-are we sharing then?” He can practically feel how perturbed the thought makes Merlin, he would love to share a bed with him, cuddle with him, but he doubts Merlin would actually allow it, might run away to wherever he’s been hiding if he even suggests it, might not come back. No, Arthur has to consider what’s best for him, put his needs first, and right now Merlin needs to be cared for, needs Arthur to look after him. Arthur can’t think about himself. “The bed’s yours Merlin, pass me a few pillows I’ll grab the spare blanket from the cupboard and sleep on the floor.”

“That’s not right!” he exclaims immediately, “This is your room, you paid for it, you should get the bed.”

Arthur has to remind himself to keep his voice level so as not to scare Merlin, “And you are my guest, you’re ill, as a courteous host I insist that you sleep in the bed.” He can tell Merlin’s about to protest again so he interjects with, “Merlin, I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

Merlin visibly swallows his response. He gets up from where he’s perched, pulls the bedding down, and with his back turned he removes the t-shirt, Arthur swears he can count every rib, before sliding under the covers. He uses magic to lob all but one pillow in Arthur’s direction and Arthur makes sure to hide his smirk, pleased with the effrontery, this is more like the Merlin he knows.

The thing obviously disagrees with Merlin though because it retrieves two of the plumpest pillows from the floor, leans Merlin forward and uses them to prop up his head. Merlin doesn’t audibly say anything but the look he gives the thing clearly indicates reproach. Arthur can’t help but feel smug.

All positive feelings are quickly swept away by icy sadness when the thing starts to apply the Vicks for Merlin. The look of adoration Merlin gives it, so tender, so sweet, and Arthur has to turn back to the desk, squeeze his eyes against the burning tears that want to escape. When he next looks Merlin’s eyes are closed and the thing is cleaning up a bit, rinsing the mug and glass, throwing out the salad container, dressing packet, and stir sticks. It even approaches Arthur, touches his mug as if in question, to which Arthur nods and it takes his cup as well placing it opposite of Merlin’s on the counter. All this before making space for the juice and cheese in the mini fridge.

“Right,” Arthur says aloud, not sure if he’s talking to himself, the thing, or Merlin, “I’m going to take a shower.” He fetches everything he’ll need and proceeds to the bathroom, he can’t help but notice how Merlin and the thing are now snuggled together in bed.

He spends much longer than necessary in the shower, just thinking, perhaps trying to get the hot water to wash away the ambivalent thoughts and feelings he’s experiencing. Eventually he has to emerge, face the music and all that.

Merlin’s clearly asleep when he exists the bathroom. His breathing is slow and deep but a little rattly, he’s curled around the thing, his magical lover, the thing appears to be unresponsive and Arthur wonders if it needs sleep, if it is asleep. All the lights are off save for the small desk lamp but it is ample light to see by. He fetches the blanket from the closet and arranges the pillows into a faux mattress so his back doesn’t kill him come morning.

He’s turned off the desk lamp, tucked himself in as best he can, checks his mobile for the time before sitting bolt upright with a curse. He’s been so focused on Merlin he’s completely forgotten about the trial. He quickly sets an alarm, quietly despairs when it informs him he’ll only get seven and a half hours if he falls asleep right now before laying back down.

He thinks it will be a repeat of last night, hard to believe that wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago, but his fatigue combined with Merlin’s steady breathing lulls him to sleep.

His 6:30 alarm jolts Arthur awake from whatever he had been dreaming about with its stridency. Merlin, poor thing, would have tumbled out of the bed had the thing not caught him. Arthur’s silenced the infernal device and flicked on the desk lamp before Merlin’s settled. “Wha was that?” he croaks, wide eyed.

“Sorry, just my alarm telling me to get up, go back to sleep.” Merlin cocks his head at him like a puppy and the thing rubs his back in what must be a comforting manner but Merlin’s kicking off the covers and getting out of bed, only to start to fall forward, the thing steadying him again. “Merlin,” Arthur can’t help but admonish, “you’re sick, you need to rest, why are you getting up?”

Merlin points in the general direction of the bathroom before he stumbles his way inside. Arthur sighs once the door is closed and rubs the sleep from his eyes, contenting himself with folding and putting away the blanket and wondering what he’s going to do with Merlin.

He’s managed to scrape together a haphazard plan by the time Merlin re-emerges looking a little more alert. “Okay,” he starts once Merlin’s sitting on the bed again, “I’ve got to go to court so I have to get ready. It’s likely to be an all-day event but they normally give everyone a two hour lunch break, I’m not sure when that will be but I’ll do some shopping, get some more essentials for you, and come back here with everything. I’ll put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door so that housekeeping doesn’t disturb you or anything but I’m not sure how quiet the hotel will be, do try to sleep though. I’m going to order room service for breakfast, do you want to look though the menu and tell me what you want?”

Merlin shakes his head, but Arthur’s not willing to let it slide that easily. “If you aren’t hungry now we could put it in the fridge and you could eat it later. Could you use your magic to reheat the food?” he asks since the room doesn’t have a microwave, Merlin gives a slight nod. Arthur plucks the menu off the desk and hands it directly to the thing who takes it, seats itself beside Merlin, and slides an arm around his bare shoulders before opening it and pointing at something. The breakfast menu is only two pages but it takes Merlin awhile to read through it. Arthur uses the bathroom in the meantime, decides to dress there in case he makes Merlin uncomfortable.

Arthur boots up his laptop once he’s out, intent on checking his email, while Merlin continues to ponder over the menu. He gets as far as the login screen before the thing won’t accept his password. He tries a few more times thinking he’s mistyped it before he realizes Merlin must have done something to it so that he could access the files last night.

“Merlin,” he asks hesitantly, “how do I get into my laptop?”

“Oh, sorry, I changed the password to 1 2 3,” he croaks, finishing with a little cough.

Arthur tries it and sure enough it lets him in. Everything else seems to be working normally.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he logs into his email, “have you decided on something yet?”

“You don’t need to get me anything, it’s pretty expensive and there’s still the food from last night.”

“Merlin, most people consider me pretty rich, you could order the whole menu and it wouldn’t put a dent in my wallet. So what do you want?”

He watches as Merlin gnaws at his lip, for a moment it seems like he won’t answer, finally, “Fruit salad please.”

That won’t be enough, “Anything else?” Arthur prompts, “Eggs? Bacon? Sausage?” he inquires.

“Maybe a croissant… with butter?”

Arthur gives in, “All right, I’ll place our order.”

Merlin settles himself back in the bed as Arthur waits for someone at the front desk to pick up. He places Merlin’s order, he was worried that they would question how much he was ordering, wonder if he had another person in the room but Merlin’s order is so small they probably just consider it a side to his American Lite. He also asks for more milk and sugar packets to be brought up with breakfast.

While he’s waiting for the food he goes about preparing a tea for himself, holding up the box so Merlin can see, “Do you want one?” he asks not bothering to turn around.

Merlin shakes his head in response but suddenly the thing is beside Arthur and for a moment Arthur is insulted, assuming Merlin’s sent it to make a tea, that Merlin doesn’t trust him. But it grabs Merlin’s glass fetching the juice from the fridge and pouring it. It’s probably not cold enough.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “it probably isn’t very cold. Do you want me to get some ice for it?” To which Merlin shakes his head, accepting the juice from the thing, Arthur notices Merlin’s eyes flash gold beneath his lashes. He’s curious, he debates the pros and cons of asking before deciding it’s worth the risk.

He waits for Merlin to take a swig before he poses his question, “Did you learn to do all of this before you were captured or have you been studying?”

Merlin looks up briefly, bows his head again, “Sort of both,” he rasps with a shrug which just serves to heighten Arthur’s curiosity.

He settles himself in the desk chair again taking a sip of his tea before he tries to press further, “Have you been in contact with others like you then? People with magic?”

Merlin shakes his head starts running his finger over the rim of the glass, Arthur thinks he isn’t going to get any further response as Merlin takes another gulp of his juice and goes back to running his thumb over the lip, “You’re the first person I’ve talked to,” he admits quietly.

“Since you got out?” Arthur can’t help but ask. Merlin gives a curt nod. Arthur can’t image how he survived being alone for three years. But then he realizes it might have been a different type of alone but Merlin’s been alone for most of his life. “I’m sorry,” he can’t help but apologize.

Merlin opens his mouth as if to respond but in the end changes his mind. “So if no one has taught you how have you learned magic?”

Merlin shrugs again, coughs, takes a few sips of juice before replying, “Sort of trial and error, I guess. I don’t know, it just sort of comes to me, sorry.”

Arthur frowns, “Merlin, you don’t have to be sorry for anything, why are you apologizing?”

Merlin gives a put upon sigh, finishes his drink and sets the glass on the nightstand, “I don’t know, I… I just don’t know... This is so weird,” he gestures between them looking up for a brief moment, “I just don’t know how to do this.” He pauses and licks his lips, runs a hand through his overlong hair, a knock startles them both, Merlin more so.

“Room service,” a female voice announces.

Merlin’s eyes are blown wide in fear and the thing, perhaps responding to his emotions, has taken on a protective stance.

Arthur makes a steadying gesture, “It’s all right, it’s just someone delivering breakfast. Just stay there, don’t speak, won’t be a minute.” Merlin makes a slight nod and Arthur takes it as confirmation that he’ll follow instructions and won’t bolt off.

He opens the door to face the tired looking front desk woman, he doesn’t open it enough to let her have a full view of the room but it’s enough that it doesn’t come off as intentionally trying to obscure the view. “Here you are sir,” she says presenting a tray laden with the foods he ordered. He takes it from her, “Just leave everything outside the door when you finish, housekeeping will pick it up later.”

“Thank you.”

She gives a little nod, “If you need anything else just give the front desk a ring.” He nods in acknowledgement and with a quite sigh the woman scurries off.

Arthur pushes the door fully shut with his hip and by the time he’s turned back around Merlin looks more relaxed. He raises the tray, “Breakfast,” he announces and then feels like an idiot because what else would it be? “Did you want any of it now? The croissant is warm, but I can put it all in the fridge and you can have it later.”

Merlin stands up walks towards him, not too close, but close enough to see the food. “Maybe I will eat a bit now,” he whispers sounding unsure. For a moment Arthur thinks he will grab the food himself but of course the thing comes over and takes the bowl of fruit salad and the plate with the croissant off the tray and hands them to Merlin. Instead of making his way back to the bed Merlin seats himself on the floor against the wall near the desk. Arthur finds it a bit weird but doesn’t comment instead removing his own plate and cutlery off the tray and placing it on the desk, throwing the paper bag of milk pots into the mini fridge and the packets of sugar on the counter, then propping the tray against the side of the desk before sitting down.

He watches Merlin as he cuts his bacon and sausage into reasonable bites. Merlin takes a tentative bite of the fruit salad, makes a small noise of appreciation before taking another spoonful. _Good,_ Arthur thinks, _he likes it_ , he’s pleased. After taking a bite of his own meal and a sip of his still hot tea he tries to resume the conversation. “What were you going to say before the food arrived?” he inquires.

Merlin stops mid-chew to look up at him, resumes chewing for longer than necessary as he looks off to the side before swallowing and replying, “I was going to say that I know I’ve done this before. When I was a kid,” he clarifies, “but this feels different. I feel like I’m getting it all wrong.” He quickly grabs another bite of salad perhaps to indicate he’s done talking, or to keep himself from rambling.

Arthur ponders his response for a moment, he knows if Merlin were him and he Uther he would agree and point out every single flaw. Not enough eye contact, be more assertive with your answers, even if you don’t know the answer don’t indicate it to your audience, keep your voice calm and level, sit, or stand, up strait when answering, take control of the conversation, speak at least as often as the other person does. So many flaws, he could never be perfect for the man, there’d always be something Uther told him to improve on. But this is Merlin, and he’s not Uther.

“You’re doing great,” he tells Merlin and feels that it’s true. Arthur would never be able to do what Merlin is doing if their positions were reversed.

Merlin snorts, “Doesn’t feel like it.” His response brings a smile to Arthur’s lips, that sounds more like the Merlin he knows. “This is easily one of the scariest things I’ve done.”

“Am I scary?” Arthur can’t help but ask only after the question’s out realizing he probably shouldn’t have asked for an answer he might not like.

He can tell he’s put Merlin in an uncomfortable position too, the way he pauses and starts fiddling. Probably trying to determine if he should tell the truth or not and his silence confirms the answer Arthur feared. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.” Merlin bites his lip, unsure how to respond and Arthur could smack himself for being so stupid. They were getting somewhere and then he had to ruin it.

He turns away, toward his breakfast, Merlin probably doesn’t want to talk to him now anyway.

It’s silent for a few moments until Merlin clears his throat, causing Arthur to startle before turning to look at him. Merlin won’t meet his eye but starts quietly, “It’s not because of who you are, it’s because I don’t know you.” That seems to be the end of what he’s willing to say.

Arthur isn’t really sure how to respond, isn’t sure if Merlin even wants a response. Finally, he settles on, “Well, you sort of know me, right? You found my Facebook page and read about me in the papers so I’m not a complete stranger, right?”

Merlin shrugs after a moment, “You can’t really claim to know someone because you stalked them online can you?” he inquires.

Arthur doesn’t really know how to respond to that one, “Well, people interact online and call each other friends, sometimes even say they are in a relationship without ever meeting face to face. I know we never directly interacted but I would say that we knew enough about each other before meeting to qualify as acquaintances.”

The conversation dies off and they finish their breakfasts in awkward silence. Although Arthur notes that Merlin finishes both the fruit salad and the croissant in addition to his glass of juice, he’s proud of him, wants to tell him as much. He takes one last gulp of tea before reaching over for the tray setting his plate and cutlery on it. Merlin must get the picture because he’s sent his thing over with the plate, bowl, and spoon.

Arthur double checks that everything that should be on the tray is on it and nothing else has been placed there by mistake before depositing it outside the door. Hearing some other guests down the hall Arthur pops the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door now so that he doesn’t forget later.

He checks the time on his mobile, it’s already quarter to eight, the trial doesn’t start until eight thirty but he’s to be seen conversing with Uther beforehand for the press meaning he should leave soon.  “I have to go soon,” he announces, “in about ten minutes actually. Did you need anything before I leave?”

Merlin looks up from the carpet and actually meets his eyes for a moment, “I’m to stay here?”

Arthur can’t help but sigh, he wants to say yes, instead he answers with, “I’m not keeping you here Merlin, you can leave if you really want to, but I would like you to stay here.”

“Why?” he’s asked immediately.

“Because you are ill, you need rest and proper food and medicine to get better. I’ve put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, no one will bother you, you can sleep for a few hours and I’ll be back with lunch and then later we can find out what’s happened to your mum, okay?”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, his thing grabs his shoulder, it looks like it’s saying something, at last Merlin nods.

“You’ll stay here?” Arthur asks in confirmation, he gets another nod. “Okay,” he says more to himself, running a hand through his hair as he tries to pull himself together, “you don’t need anything before I go?” he gets a shake of the head. “Okay,” he says again, pulling a suit jacket from the closet, locating his wallet and slipping it in his pocket, before removing it to ensure the room key is there, he grabs his mobile. He looks to where he’s left his laptop on the desk, normally he’d slip it in his brief case but he’d only use it during lunch break, he opts to leave it, maybe Merlin can watch Youtube videos if he can’t sleep. “I’m going to leave you my laptop all right? I want you to try to get some rest but if you can’t sleep feel free to use it, I haven’t reset the password, the charger is in the safe.”

Merlin looks up at that, “Are you sure?”

Arthur nods in response, “I can’t use it when court is in session anyway.” Doing a quick pat down of his person Arthur ensures he has everything, keys, wallet, phone, briefcase, loafers.

“Well I’m off, I’ll see you in a few hours.” Merlin doesn’t respond and Arthur can’t spend too long studying him. He forces himself out the door, _I hope he’s still there when I return_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been edited on three separate occasions but sometimes you can't see your own errors, feel free to point them out to me. Comments and constructive criticism also welcomed.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If you bothered to read the A/N at the top you'd know already that I'd really appreciate any kind of feedback. Thanks!


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